


Dead Inside

by starlight_starbright



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Avoidance, Badass Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes Feels, Cuddling, Daddy Issues, Dancing, Drinking, Emotional Sex, First Time I-Love-You's, Fluff, Gore, Guns, Hand Jobs, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt!Steve, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Language, Love, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Marriage Proposal, Military Refereces, Natasha knows what's up, Nightmares, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, References Suicidal Thoughts, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Has Issues, Steve Rogers Feels, Survival, Target, The Boys are oblivious, Unexpected Pregnancy, Veteran Bucky, Veteran Natasha, Veteran Sam, Veteran Steve, Zombies, baby sarah romanoff-wilson, baths, bucky was a sniper, complicated relationship, dubious medical knowledge, dubious science knowledge, hand holding, hurt!bucky, im so sorry, me trying to make connections to the winter soldier, references to injury, references to past abuse, references to steve's time in the military, reverse winter soldier, so much pain, soul mates, steve is so good with kids, steve wears his heart on his sleeve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_starbright/pseuds/starlight_starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you say to your friends when they think you're dead? When you should be dead, when all of the odds were stacked against you, but you're still here? When you show up on their fucking doorstep in the middle of a zombie apocalypse with a not-fully-healed bite on your arm, covered in blood and dirt, claiming you didn't die, you just got really fucked up from a fall.</p><p>Or: Zombie apocalypse fic with lots of angst, pain, regret, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarSpangledBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpangledBucky/gifts).



> Woo! I'm excited for this one. I saw a post on tumblr saying how it would be beneficial to be trapped in a Target during the apocalypse and this happened.
> 
> It goes out to Zoe, for her amazing stories and her support on all the things I've written.
> 
> Title from Muse.

It’s a sunny day, which is ironic, really. A mid-November, cold kind of sunny, but a beautiful day nonetheless. The wind is blowing just hard enough to warrant a coat and a scarf, but the sun is warm on Steve’s face as he makes the walk to Natasha’s apartment. His hands are a bit cold, but that won't matter in a few minutes anyway.

It always hits Steve hard that there aren’t many people walking about the city. He exits his apartment and expects to be swept away into the waves of people going every which way to work or school or wherever, but not anymore. Not since the news aired two weeks ago. 

Not since the virus.

It still makes him nervous, going outside, but he figures that he has six years of military training under his belt and that gives him a leg up on the Infected.

He doesn’t like when people call them zombies—it sounds like something out of a horror movie. It makes him feel like he’s living in a fantasy. And, nope, this is definitely real life. The conspiracy theorists are having a field day with this one. And Steve can't really blame them, if he’s honest with himself. It _is_ insane. Zombies in New York? When he’s first heard it, he hadn't believed it.

He’d been with Natasha and Sam watching a football game when a breaking news banner had popped up on the bottom of the screen.

_Breaking: Virus Infects New York Lab_

“Hey, turn this up!” Sam had called, making grabby hands at the remote. Natasha’d changed the channel to the news and turned the volume up.

 _“Well, Karen,”_ the reporter was saying. _“I’m standing outside of the hospital right now where our sources say there’s a virus spreading at break neck speed inside. The virus is said to kill within the first two hours, and actually_ resurrect _it’s victims as a kind of brain-dead zombie.”_ And then just as the reporter had started to laugh, a dark-skinned man had come up behind him and literally _latched his teeth into the man’s neck_ and pulled out his jugular. There’d been a lot of screaming and then the camera had cut off.

Apparently one of the “zombies” had gotten out of the hospital. It’d only killed the reporter before an on-scene policeman had shot it—in the head, of course. Everyone’s seen the cliché zombie movies—but it’d been enough to send everyone into a panic.

The next day, similar stories of the Infected, as people liked to call them, started popping up all over the globe. Quarantines in LA and San Francisco, lockdowns in Beijing, airports shutting down in England . . . Germany shut off its borders to any incoming flights or immigrants.

The world literally shut down in a matter of hours.

So that’s why it’s weird when Steve goes outside—not very many people do, anymore. The schools have shut down along with most work places.

No one wants to risk being bitten. No one wants to risk their children, their families. No one wants to risk going out.

And then there’s Steve, who walks the streets like he owns the place. He’s almost to Natasha’s when he hears a bang. He turns sharply, pulling his gun from its holster at his side, pointing it with elbows slightly bend, eyes sharp. But it’s just a stray dog, and he relaxes, laughing shakily at himself. _You didn’t live this long for nothing_ , he tells himself. There were multiple times during his three tours when he would’ve died if it weren’t for his acute hearing and sharp reflexes. So as Steve heads up the stairs to Nat’s apartment, he thanks his lucky stars that he has the skills that he does.

He texts her that he’s outside, and then knocks on the door—the special knock that they had when they were kids. Three swift knocks and then two spaced evenly apart. He waits for exactly three seconds before he hears someone walk to the door.

“Steve?” Natasha calls from the other side of the door.

“Open up, Widow,” Steve calls back, hiding a smile. The door swings open and Steve steps in, quickly shutting the door behind him.

Natasha’s place is spacious and tastefully decorated—all black furniture and marble. Steve’s always loved it here since his place is so small. Sam’s sprawled across the couch looking totally relaxed until he sees how many guns Steve has hidden on his body. Sam’s expression tenses immediately.

“We goin’ back to war, Steve?” he asks, trying for a joke and failing miserably. Steve huffs a sigh and rolls his shoulders back, standing up straighter.

“You guys ready?” he asks, looking over at Natasha. She nods and Sam gets up, coming over to stand next to them. 

“Well, let’s go,” Natasha says, grabbing Sam’s hand. Steve looks at them together, then down to the ring on the redhead’s hand and can't help but smile. They’d gotten engaged six months ago and now the wedding probably isn’t going to happen with everything that’s going on. With New York on quarantine and no one being let in, their families wouldn’t be able to come, but Steve thinks that maybe they’re going to do it anyway. Go to the courthouse or something—have a small ceremony. It’s better than nothing.

But instead of dwelling on all the things that won't happen, Steve makes himself move toward the door, leading the way out onto the street and to Sam’s SUV. They get in, Steve in the back, and head out. There are a few people out on the roads—not as many as normal, but enough for traffic. Mostly, people trying to get out as soon as they can or going out to the store. Wal-Marts, Costcos, and Targets are the only stores that are still getting trucks in, so those are the only stores that still have everything in stock. Natasha is impatient as she weaves in and out of traffic, drumming on the steering wheel with her thumbs. Steve just sighs and looks out the window as the redhead makes her way through traffic and to the shopping centre with the Target in it. Natasha finds a place to park—which isn’t hard, since almost no one is here—and they all pile out.

Steve grabs his backpack out of the back and hops out, ready to go. He’s not nervous, exactly, but he is anxious to get in and get out. They’d seen at least two packs of the Infected on the drive over. He doesn’t want to get caught in the Target with nowhere to go. So he leads the way in, Sam and Natasha behind him, planning to get in and get out as quickly as they can. Steve’s backpack is fully stocked with bullets, guns, knives, hatchets, and a first aid kit, so even if they do get trapped by some twisted fate of God, they’ll be okay.

They walk quickly into the store and split up to cover more ground. Steve goes straight to the food while Sam and Natasha go to the hiking equipment. Their phones are both of high volume, so if something does happen, they’ll be able to find each other. Surveying the aisles, Steve picks one to go down and starts tossing things in his basket. Bread, flour, sugar, and some candies he knows Natasha will appreciate. He also gets soups and canned vegetables, knowing they’ll need those for later.

Because this epidemic is just that—an epidemic. It isn’t going away any time soon.

So when Steve exits the food section and goes to meet up with Natasha and Sam at checkout, he’s every surprised to see none other than Bucky Barnes standing in line ahead of him.

Steve and Bucky work together at the coffee shop Natasha runs. They’re both veterans looking for some sort of income in the terrible economy that is America in 2015, and they’ve become relatively close. They hang out at work sometimes and have movie nights with the rest of their friends—Tony, Thor, Bruce, Clint, Sharon, Peggy, and Maria. Steve’s very happy to see Bucky alive and well, but when he taps Bucky on the shoulder, the older man jumps and flinches away.

“Hey, Buck, it’s okay,” Steve soothes, pulling his hand away. “It’s me, Steve.” Bucky’s eyes finally focus on Steve and he visibly relaxes, letting out a strangled laugh. 

“Scared the shit out of me, Steve,” he says, smiling that tiny smile that leaves Steve’s stomach in knots. 

He’s been in love with Bucky Barnes since he met him almost two years ago.

“Sorry about that. You here alone?” Steve glances around and spots Natasha and Sam making their way over. He waves his hand in the air to get their attention and then looks back at the brunet.

“Nah, the rest of the gang is in here somewhere. Figured we’d stock up, what with the fuckin’ zombie apocalypse and all.” Bucky shrugs and moves up in line, Steve shuffling behind him.

“Where have you been staying? I heard the blocks around your place were Infected.” Bucky’s gaze darts around before meeting Steve’s eye again.

“I’ve been staying at Tony’s. He has more than enough room.” Natasha and Sam finally reach Steve, and he’s about to greet them when all hell breaks loose.

There’s a commotion at the doors and all heads turn to see what it is. Steve tenses, hand going down to pals at the gun on his belt. One lone Infected makes its way through the double automatic doors and before Steve can do anything, it’s ripped into a woman making her way out. There are screams all around and people rushing for the doors only to be blocked by a seemingly never-ending tide of Infected pouring into the store. Steve takes one look at his friends and takes off for the doors.

“Lock the doors!” he yells to anyone who will listen. A few people follow his orders, shoving the Infected back and trying to get the doors to close. Steve finally makes it over, gun in hand, and starts to shoot, clearing the doors as best he can.

There’s got to be at least twenty of them—fast and strong and reeking of death. Flesh hags off their bodies in chunks, blood caked on their bodies from where they were bitten and killed. Their clothes are torn and tattered, fingernails dirty and broken. It’s like something out of a bizarre horror movie.

People finally catch on that you can close the doors by shoving them shut, and one by one, the doors get locked and people flee back into the building. Steve glances around, trying to assess the situation. There are about fifteen Infected in the building, more piling up at the doors. People are running in all different directions and the ones that aren’t are trying to take on the Infected with anything from baseball bats to golf clubs. There’s blood all over the floor—human and Infected. Steve searches for his friends in the chaos, and can only seems to spot Natasha and only because of her fire-engine red hair. She catches his eye and motions to the back of the store. It takes Steve a while, but he finally understands.

The back of the store. The intercom system and security cameras are controlled from back there.

“You’re a fucking genius, Natasha Romanoff,” Steve mutters, taking off toward the back. She flashes him a smile and a wink as he runs past, cutting an Infected’s head off in one fell swoop with a hatchet she’d had somewhere on her body—Steve doesn’t know where. He focuses on getting to the back room, ignoring the carnage around him. If he stops to help, he’ll cause more harm than good.

But then he sees Bucky.

And three Infected.

Steve stops dead in his tracks, spins on his heel, and rushes to his friend’s side. His heart is pounding so hard that he can feel the blood rushing in his ears as he makes his way down the aisle to the open space Bucky’s in. He can't just leave him there weaponless.

So he clutches his gun a little tighter and runs for it, stopping three feet away.  

Stop. Aim. Fire. 

The shot rings in his ears, but he's used to the gunfire of war. This is a different kind of war, though. An all-inclusive war. It's not just against one country or people—it's against the human race. It's the human race on the line here. 

And if he can save Bucky, that's a win in Steve's book. 

So he aims again, and this time the Infected goes down. Bucky looks up, and it gives the Infected time to claw open a gash on Bucky's forearm.

_Oh God, no. Not Bucky. Anyone but Bucky._

But the when brunet glances down at the blood, he looks more annoyed than anything, and then hits the thing over the head with a lamp he'd grabbed from the shelf on his left. Steve shoots it as it stumbles, and then there's only one left. Bucky takes care of it by swiftly knocking the thing down and driving a shard of glass from the lamp through its forehead. 

When Bucky stands, he's covered in blood and grime, but he sends a goofy smile Steve's way. Steve smiles back, and then, on a whim, reaches out and takes Bucky's hand. 

"Help me," Steve says, squeezing Bucky's hand. The older man squeezes back. 

"Anything." Turning on his heel, Steve pulls Bucky with him and they begin to jog to the back of the store. No Infected have made it this far, so there's no one Steve would feel guilty about not helping. 

They bust through the double doors and into the back room, Bucky still holding Steve's hand and Steve isn't sure if the pounding of his heart is from adrenaline, Bucky, or both. Probably both. But he does what he came here for regardless--searching until Bucky drags him to a door. 

"I used to work at a Target in high school," he explains as he opens the door. "They're all the same. You can access the PA system from here." Bucky shows him the button and then steps back, letting go of Steve's hand. 

"Thanks, Buck." And then Steve gets to work. He presses the button down and begins to speak slowly and clearly. 

"Attention. My name is Steve Rogers, a captain of the United States Marine Corps. If you have children with you, get them to the very back of the store. You will see two double doors. Bring them there. Sergeant James Barnes will be waiting to direct you to a safe place within the store." Steve glances over at Bucky who nods and exits the room. "However," Steve continues. "If you wish to leave, leave now. I will be giving instructions to barricade the doors in five minutes. Exit out of the loading docks. Be careful. Be safe. Be alert." He sits back, tapping his fingers and watching the clock as five minutes tick by.  

He can hear the voices of women and crying children from outside of the door and he has to fight himself to not get up to help. Bucky's got this. He looks back at the clock and presses the button down again. 

"For those of you left, find a woman named Natasha and a man named Sam near checkout. They will split you into two teams. One team will be sent deeper into the store to pick off the Infected still inside while the other team will barricade the doors. Listen to them. They know what they're doing." Steve takes a deep breath. "This is what we will do to survive. Either take your chances out there, or be safe here with us. The choice is yours, but make it quickly." Steve then shuts off the intercom and pushes away from the desk. 

"Women and children are secure," Bucky says from behind him. Steve jumps a little and turns around, blushing. The brunet graces him with a small smile and reaches out his hand. "Let's go see how they're doing out there." 

They walk through the store hand-in-hand, surveying the damage. It doesn't look like more than five human lives were lost, where as the floors are littered with Infected corpses. Steve's heart is still pounding when he sees Natasha and Sam standing with Tony, Thor, Bruce, Sharon, and Maria. The doors are barricaded with dressers and chairs and night stands. He takes a deep breath, trying to relax. 

But as Steve allows Bucky to lead him down towards their friends, he realises something. 

They're trapped.  

His throat closes up and his brain screams at him to get out, but he knows that would be stupid. They’re all safer in here than they would be out there.

“That was a nice speech,” Sam says, coming up to him. “Did you write it down first?” And Steve can't help but laugh, which must have been Sam’s intention because he relaxes. He also glances down at Steve and Bucky’s hands, still clasped. Steve just shrugs at him. Natasha looks pleased.

Except it doesn’t mean anything.

They’re in the middle of a fucking apocalypse and Bucky only wants him because there’s no one else to want.

Or maybe Bucky doesn’t want him at all. Maybe the hand-holding is platonic and only for reassurance.

Either way, Steve is making himself sad, so he decides to focus on more important things. They have to do inventory and find sleeping places and take a headcount. They have to find a place to store the bodies. They have to establish rules, they have to . . . God, they have to do everything.

“So what now, oh Fearless Leader?” Tony asks, smirking. Steve fixes him with a hard glare and looks over at Natasha.

“Nat, do inventory of the food we have,” he tells her. She nods, and takes off. “Sam, toiletries. Bruce, pharmacy. Tony, electronics. Thor, find sleeping places for everyone. Clear out the clothing sections so they have a carpeted place to set up. Then go get all the bedding you can find and hand it out. Sharon, go gather everyone and figure out who is allergic to what and what medicines everyone is on. If they have a mental illness, if they’re sick, if they have asthma. Make a list.” Everyone goes their separate ways, leaving Maria and Bucky standing next to him.

“We need to make contact with the outside world,” Maria says to him. Steve nods. 

“I’ll get Tony on that as soon as we figure everything else out.” Maria nods heads off to help out where she can. Steve looks over at Bucky and realises that he’s still bleeding.

“Let’s go get your arm cleaned up, yeah?” he asks. Bucky nods, but then stops and takes Steve’s face in his hands.

“I know you're worrying, so don’t,” Bucky murmurs, looking deep into Steve’s eyes. “You’re doing the right thing. And I'm with you. Till the end of the line.” Bucky smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and Steve is no longer sure what’s going on between them, but he doesn’t care. They don’t need a label. They can just be.

So Steve leads Bucky over to the pharmacy section of the store and cleans up his arm, thinking that as long as he has Bucky, as long as he has his friends, this might be okay.

He might just survive this.


	2. To Adjust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky get a private moment.

In the end, the gash on Bucky's arm isn't that deep, but Steve is still worried about infection. Both kinds of infection. Which is terrifying for Steve, much more if he were to tell the brunet about his concerns.

So Steve decides not to tell him. There's no need to worry him. You can't get Infected just by being cut, you have to be bitten, so for now, Steve just wraps the cut and gets Bucky over to a sleeping bag in the corner--away from all the others. He'll sleep better away from all the noise.

"Thanks, Steve," Bucky says, grabbing his hand as he gets up. Steve looks down at him and smiles softly at the sleepy expression on his friend's face. "Really. Will you come back?" Bucky asks, hope radiating from his eyes. Steve sighs.

On one hand, he wants to be as close as possible to Bucky. He wants to hold him and comfort him and tell him it's going to be okay, that they'll get through this. On the other, he has so much to do. He's basically set himself up to be the leader here, and certain things have to be done before he can even think about sitting down, much less going to sleep. But he doesn't have the heart to tell Bucky that, so he just runs his hand through that dark hair and leans down to kiss the crown of his head. Bucky lets his hand go, and Steve forces himself to move away. He has to.

The first thing he does is find Natasha. She's still making a list of all the food, but when she sees him, she huffs a sigh and comes over. The thing that surprises him is that she comes and throws her arms around his waist and hugs him close—something she never does with anyone but Sam. He can count on one hand how many hugs he's gotten from her. She pulls back and places a hand absentmindedly on her stomach, scrunching up her face like she’s in pain.

"You okay, Nat?" he asks, hugging her back. She looks up at him and shakes her head. Steve isn't sure what to say or do. Should he ask what's wrong? Should he just be quiet? Should he go find Sam? “Do you want to talk about it?” She sighs and doesn’t answer him. “You know you can tell me anything,” he says gently, taking her hand. She nods and bites her lip, looking down at her feet.

"I'm pregnant," Natasha whispers, her voice cracking just the slightest bit at the end. "I found out three weeks ago. Sam doesn't know. And . . ." she trails off, taking a deep, shaky breath. "I don't know how to do this. I never thought I could have kids. I never . . . I never saw this coming. And now we're trapped here and I don't even know if I can carry to term and what if something goes wrong? We don't have the medical supplies to deal with a pregnancy or even a miscarriage." She pulls away from Steve and crosses her arms protectively over her chest. "I don't know what to do." Steve sighs.

"First, you need to tell Sam. You're fairly early along. We can deal with the rest later." She bites her lip and nods, and Steve goes to ruffle her hair but she slaps his hand away. "Finish this then get Sam and get some sleep. We all need it. Tomorrow we'll start figuring things out." He smiles at her and goes to find the rest of his friends. Bruce has finished in the pharmacy and Sam has finished toiletries, so he sends them both to get some sleep. Thor is still figuring things out with Maria, and Tony is in the back toying with the electronics. Everything seems to be okay.

"Hey," someone says behind him, heavily accented. Steve turns to see a tallish man with blond hair and blue eyes. "I was wondering what we do next." The man looks down and then back up like he's embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I uh, you're kind of like an American hero." And Steve sighs. Of course this guy knows him.

When Steve was in the military on his last tour, he'd been captured by militants in Afghanistan. He's been tortured and abused and broken, but after he'd been freed, the U.S. government had made him a poster boy for the military. He'd received the Purple Heart and a honourable discharge, but his face had also been plastered all over the news. Everyone had come up to him and made him relive his four months in Afghani prison.

So of course this guy knows him. 

"What we do next," Steve says, rubbing his face with his hands, "Is sleep. We all get some sleep, and we deal with the rest tomorrow. No one is going to be able to function without sleep." The guy nods and turns to go. "What's your name?" Steve calls after him. He's going to have to learn names.

"Pietro," he says, before walking away. Pietro. Okay. So he knows one name outside of his friends. It's a start.

Steve continues his rounds around the store, checking in on his friends and meeting some of the others along the way. He makes sure to tell everyone he meets that, though this is scary, they all need rest. Because like hell if Steve is going to put up with a hundred something sleep deprived people in the midst of an apocalypse. It's hard enough dealing with his own fear, his own doubt.

He finally starts to feel tired after a long, drawn-out conversation with Tony about radios and how to contact people on the outside, so he checks his watch. It's two in the morning. He needs to take his own advice and get some sleep. So he heads back over to where the blankets and sleeping bags are being handed out and grabs a blanket and a pillow for himself before going over to where Bucky is. He sees Natasha and Sam curled together a few feet away from Bucky, along with the rest of his friends. They've left him a space next to Bucky as well as a four foot gap between their little nest and Bucky's. He silently thanks Natasha because that was most likely her doing.

Everyone looks peaceful, which is good. In the coming days, it's going to be harder and harder to have this kind of peaceful quiet. It's going to be harder to find solace. It's going to be harder to find the good mixed in with all the bad.

But right now, the good is sleeping right next to where Steve lays down. The good is Bucky Barnes, sprawled out in sleep with hair stuck to his face and soft snores coming from his chest. His metal fingers are twitching slightly in his sleep, and Steve smiles. He's so goddamn adorable. 

Settling down on his side, Steve gets comfortable and gazes at Bucky. It may be weird, or whatever, but this is the softest Steve's seen his friend look. There's no fear or animosity in Bucky's face, no anger or hurt. It's a good look, the serenity. Sighing, Steve closes his eyes. His brain is running a hundred different ways with things he needs to do, and all he can focus on right now is the man sleeping beside him.

He really is ridiculous. 

-

Steve wakes up warm and happy, but way too early. He feels like he's slept for . . . maybe an hour or two? But there's a body pressed up against his back, an arm slung around his waist. He breathes in deeply and opens his eyes to darkness. He's confused for a moment, trying to figure out what's going on.

_Where am I? Why can't I see anything? Who's next to me?_

_Oh_.

It hits him, the previous day crashing back with painful clarity. The blood, the fear, the chaos. It all makes sense, but why is there a body pressed up against him? The person murmurs in their sleep and tenses up, squeezing Steve around his middle. And that arm is metal and Steve only knows one person with a metal arm. 

 _Bucky_.

Bucky is pressed up against Steve, arm around his waist. _What the fuck. Is this happening?_ Steve sighs and melts into it, enjoying the closeness under the cloak of darkness. He's not ever been this close to Bucky, and just feeling the warmth from his body, the soft huffs of breath against the nape of his neck . . . it almost lulls him back to sleep.

But then Bucky's body tenses up. He's muttering in his sleep, metal fingers twitching on Steve's stomach. Soft, broken noises are spilling from his mouth and Steve turns to face him, nudging his shoulder gently.

"Bucky," he whispers, hand coming to rest on Bucky's shoulder and pushing gently. "Buck, wake up." In the low light, Steve can see Bucky's face scrunch up and his metal arm clasps Steve's wrist hard enough to bruise. Taking his hand off of Bucky's shoulder, he tries to pull it out of Bucky's grip, but the metal hand is too strong. He can feel his bones creaking under the pressure, so he jostles Bucky a little harder. "Bucky, wake up," he says louder. "It's just a dream, Buck. Come back to me, baby." Bucky's eyes fly open and he pulls his hand back quickly, letting Steve go. Steve sits up and rubs his wrist with his other hand, blood flowing back into his fingers.

"Steve?" Bucky asks, chest heaving from his nightmare. The brunet looks horrified. "Fuck. Did I hurt you?" His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted, and Steve wants to bite that plush bottom lip. But he controls himself and pulls Bucky up to sit beside him.

"Nah, I'm fine. Are you okay? You were having a nightmare." Steve peers over at his friend, concern welling up in his chest. Bucky doesn't look okay—not even a little bit.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I'm used to it. Just not used to having someone else there when it happens." He holds his hand out and Steve places his wrist there for Bucky's inspection. A bruise is already forming, angry blue and purple over pale skin. "I'm so sorry," he murmurs, not looking up at Steve. He lets Steve's hand drop and crosses his arms over his chest, making him look smaller than should be possible. 

"It's alright," Steve says, nudging Bucky's shoulder with his own. "I bruise easily. It's not a big deal."

“But it _is_ Steve,” Bucky hisses. “It is.” And with that, he gets up and walks away, leaving Steve alone and confused. Had he done something wrong? What’d happened? He rubs his hand over his face and then gets up himself to go splash water on his face. Careful not to disturb any of the sleeping bodies, he makes his way to the front of the store and the restrooms. Steve looks in the mirror and stops dead.

He looks terrible. Dark circles under his eyes and pale skin—paler than normal, anyway. Must’ve come from two weeks of constant vigilance. He hadn't let himself sleep for more than two hours at a time out of fear of his neighbourhood becoming a war zone. 

And the nightmares. Those, too. 

Since he’d gotten back, they’d gotten worse. Who would’ve thought? You come home from war and expect things to be easier, you expect to get better. But it’s actually worse. It’s worse than being over there, than being in that fucking POW cell they kept him in. Or, at least, it’s the same—because he goes there in his sleep every night. It’s like his psyche won't let go. It takes him back night after night after night. To the beatings and interrogations and fucking torture they put him through.

Shaking his head, he turns the water on in the sink, cups his hands, and splashes his face. He scrubs at it for a minute, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and running a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. Sighing, he goes to the bathroom and then walks back out into the store. He walks over to the doors and checks the barricades to make sure they’re sound. There’s about a dozen Infected milling about outside where Sam had pried open the doors to dump the bodies of the killed Infected from inside of the store, and Steve watches them for a moment.

It’s kind of fascinating—the way they move, the way they _are_. They don’t care about anything but carnage and death. It’s strange to think that they were all human once—some probably hadn't been turned more than a day ago. But as Steve watches them, he notices them noticing him. One man—no, _Infected_ —in a red shirt and ripped jeans slams himself against the door, trying to get in. part of the skin on his cheek sticks to the door and Steve kind of wants to throw up. The creature keeps slamming against the door, trying to get at Steve, and he backs away. He’s not too proud to say this frightens him—it would frighten _anyone_. Yes, Steve’s seen war, but not war like this. Not what they’re up against here.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Bucky says from behind him. Steve jumps and spins around. “Sorry,” the brunet says quietly. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve says, taking a deep breath. He turns to look at Bucky fully in darkness. His eyes have long since adjusted, and the little light that comes from the sun peeking over the horizon illuminates him. “How are you?” Steve asks gently, reaching his hand out to place on Bucky’s arm, but then thinks better of it and lets it drop to his side. Bucky doesn’t answer him. “You know, I have them, too,” Steve says quietly. Bucky looks up at him, surprise written all over his face. “Really bad ones. And I've hurt Natasha and Sam a few times in my sleep. So . . . you're not alone.” Steve finally takes Bucky’s hand and squeezes it just tight enough for him to know that Steve means it, that he’s really here.

“Thank you,” Bucky whispers. And on a whim, Steve pulls him in to drop a kiss on his head. Bucky stills, but doesn’t tense up. He rests his head against Steve’s shoulder and breathes deeply, hands coming to rest on Steve’s hips.

They stay like that until the sunrise—just standing, content in each other. And Steve thinks that this . . . whatever it is, this is beautiful. In the midst of death and decay, the human race has to adjust. They have to find beauty wherever they can, and Steve sees beauty in this moment with Bucky. He sees it in the brunet’s eyes, his smile, the way he pulls his hair back into a messy bun. He can see the beauty of the sunrise past the Infected outside of the door. And as his eyes adjust to the light, he adjusts to his surroundings.

If humanity is to survive, they need to adjust to this darkness. Change the way they think, they move, they _live_. Humans as a species must change.

They must adjust.


	3. To Confess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain.

Two days and a lot of hard work later, Steve has things pretty much under control. He'd held a vote for leadership and it had been unanimous on his side, but he's still not very sure about how he can help these people. How can he keep everyone safe? How is he going to protect everyone? How will he be able to control the panic of this many people? 

He's gone to Sam twice today already with his concerns about it and every time he does, Sam tells him to calm down. That he's a natural leader and they're all behind him. Steve still isn't convinced, but Sam says that will come and Steve really hopes it will.

Selfishly, what he's most worried about right now is Bucky.

He's seen the brunet around the last couple of days, and they still sleep next to each other, but Bucky hasn't said more than ten words to him since that night. He hasn’t touched him, hasn’t so much as looked Steve’s way for more than a few seconds at a time. Steve is starting to second guess the way he'd held Bucky, the way he'd dropped a kiss to his head. Had he gone too far? Did he make Bucky uncomfortable? God, he hopes not.

He’s noticed that the brunet hasn’t been eating as much as he should, and Steve remembers that. He remembers the periods when his nightmares were so bad that they bled into his every day life. And he knows what Bucky’s going through, but he doesn’t want to make things worse by trying to comfort him. He doesn’t want to make Bucky feel like Steve thinks he’s fragile because that was the last thing Steve wanted from his friends when he was there. Steve wanted to be left alone, to figure things out by himself. 

Of course, that didn’t end up working. Steve’d needed counselling—had needed to talk and vent and remember. The only reason Steve’d gotten better is because of his friends and his therapist. But for the longest time, Steve hadn't wanted a therapist. He hadn't thought he needed help, and that’s where Bucky is. Bucky is at the point where he thinks he can go it alone, and that makes Steve sad. He doesn’t have to, and Steve’s heart hurts for him. So much so that he’s been bothering Natasha with it for the past hour.

Natasha says he just needs to talk to him. Just talk to him and tell him where Steve's at—that he really cares about Bucky and wants him to be okay. That he'll do anything to make the brunet feel safe.

"You're dancing around him and it's not healthy," Natasha says for the third time in the last hour. She's sorting out foods for dinner and Steve is helping where he can. "You need to just tell him. You're in love with the guy, Steve. You have been for months. And it seems to me that he feels the same way."

“Was I that obvious?” Steve asks. “Does he know? If he knows, why wouldn’t he say something?” God, Steve doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“You’re lucky you're both oblivious,” Natasha snarks, smirking at him.

"But he never showed any interest in me before we got stuck in here," Steve worries. "What if he only wants me because we're trapped? What if he doesn't even want me at all and I'm just some sort of distraction?" Steve's biting a hole in his lip when Natasha turns around and slaps his cheek gently.

"Stop that," the redhead chastises. Steve sighs and scrubs at his face with his hand before running it through his hair. "James isn't the kind of person to play you. And it didn't just start when we got stuck in here, you're just fucking oblivious." She smirks when Steve's face screws up in confusion. "I've seen the way he looks at you, Steve. If he doesn't love you, there're definitely some very strong feelings there." She nudges his shoulder. "Get out of here. Go talk to him. Sam and I can handle getting food to everyone." Steve nods and heads off to find Bucky, completely determined to tell him how he feels.

-

Steve spends forty-five minutes looking for Bucky and planning out exactly how he's going to tell the brunet that he loves him. 

_I know this is a bad time . . . no, that's not right. I know this is a terrible situation, but it's made me realise . . . no, I didn't just realise. How the fuck am I going to do this? Get it together, Rogers. I know we're in a terrible situation, and I know you're having a hard time, but I just have to say this. Let me say this one thing. Bucky, I love you. Yeah, that's good._

But as soon as he sees Bucky, his speech flies out of the window. Bucky's moved a plush love seat into a corner in the back of the store. Steve takes him in for a second. He's reading a very beat up copy of Slaughterhouse Five, hair falling out of his bun. He swipes it back only for it to fall back in his face. It's fucking adorable and Steve's stomach twists into a knot of nervousness. He doesn't know what to do, can't seem to form words. His mouth is dry and his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth. This scares him more than the creatures beyond the walls, which is ridiculous.

"Can I help you with something?" Bucky asks dryly, not looking up from his book. Steve jumps, inhaling sharply. Recovering quickly, he runs a nervous hand through his hair.  _Jesus._ What does he say to that? _Think, Rogers._

"Uh . . . Nat is getting dinner ready," Steve stammers out, chickening out. He can't tell Bucky now. Not like this. "Thought you might be hungry," he says instead. Bucky makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and doesn't look up. Hostility is coming of the brunet in waves and Steve doesn't understand. His stance is tense and closed off, but his face is just sad. Steve wants to ask, wants to help, but he doesn't know what to say. He goes for the obvious. "You should probably eat something, Buck," he says gently, moving a bit closer. "Whatever I did . . . it's not worth you not taking care of yourself." And at that, Bucky looks up, horror written on his face.

"Steve, you didn't—" 

"Something made you withdraw," Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. "And the only thing I can think of is that I made you uncomfortable and I'm sorry. I'll back off. But please come eat." The brunet looks at him like Steve'd just told him his dog died. God, Steve just can't stop fucking this up. Bucky is still looking at him with that helpless expression on his face, and Steve doesn’t know what else to say. "I'm sorry," he whispers one more time before walking away. 

-

Dinner is very organised, which isn't surprising seeing that Natasha and Sam put it together. They'd made separate dinners for the kids—chicken nuggets they'd heated up in the Starbucks microwave with steamed veggies and milk. Everyone else is having some sort of chicken that honestly smells amazing, but that Natasha says didn't use too much of their food. She knows how to ration, they all do. At least military training is good for something, Steve thinks grimly. 

Steve sits with Pietro and his twin sister, Wanda. They’re very interesting people. Steve learns that they moved to America shortly after their parents had died to live with some extended family. Wanda talks about the psychology courses she was in, Pietro about his undefeated record on the track team and Steve thinks he likes these people. They’re the kind of people, had Steve met them before this disaster, Steve would be instant friends with. He feels like that might happen anyway.

After Steve's eaten and taken care of some business, he goes over to where his things are. Last night, he'd had a few people come up to him and ask if there was any way to set up barriers for privacy. So Steve had gone back to the camping supplies and found as many tents and tarps as possible and handed them out to the different little groups of people. Steve and Bucky had taken a larger tent and set it up as far away from the others as possible, their friends still sleeping close, but not that close. Steve is now second guessing if he should stay or not. He spreads out over the multiple quilts and blankets and mattress covers that he and Bucky had spread on the floor of the tent and grabs his sketchbook out of his backpack. The mattress covers had been Natasha's idea and it was so much better than sleeping on the hard ground.

That's how he is when Bucky finds him—spread out over his sleeping bag with his head propped up on some blankets and his sketchbook on one knee. Steve looks up when the front flap unzips, hoping that Bucky will even just look at him, but he doesn't. He just goes over to his side and sits down, book in hand. Steve glances over at him every now and then and finds himself sketching Bucky in the low light from the camping lamps they have in their tent. The brunet doesn't seem to notice. 

After a while though, Steve gets tired and turns his lamp off, rolling over and pulling a blanket up to his shoulders. He can hear Bucky's slow, steady breaths, the soft sound of pages rustling. It's quite calming, but Steve can't shake the feeling that Bucky is getting further and further away from him.

-

Steve wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. His muscles are tensed, like he’s ready to run from something, but he can't remember what his dream was about. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, he realises what woke him up. Strong arms are wrapped around him—one flesh and one metal. There’s a chin resting on his head, a voice whispering soothing nothings into his ear.

“It’s okay, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs. “It’ll be okay. I'm right here. I'm here and I'm not gonna let you go. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I'm right here.” Steve shifts and presses his face into Bucky’s flesh arm, squeezing his eyes shut against the flashes he’s getting of his nightmare. “Hey, Stevie. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” And Steve starts to cry. He can't help it. He loves this man so much and in the late hours of the night, he can't hold it in. He needs this—to be held, to be reassured, to be comforted. He’s been alone for so long. No one’s held him like this maybe ever, and he _needs_ this.

“Buck,” he whines out, pushing closer to the warmth of the body clutching him tight. Bucky kisses his hair, keeping one arm around his waist while the other wipes the tears from Steve’s face.

“Let it go, sweetheart. I’ll hold you together.” Bucky’s got him, and Steve lets go—shaking with the force of it. The fucking _agony_ of remembering the war, remembering what he’s done . . . his body can't handle it. It’s nights like these when Steve thinks about ending it all. The nights when he wakes up hurting, wakes up remembering all the people he killed, all the wives he took husbands from. It’s nights like these when he wants to give up.

“Please,” Steve mutters. “Please, Buck.” And Bucky gets it, pulling Steve up and situating him in his lap, pressing Steve’s face into his neck. 

“C’mon, hold onto me,” Bucky says, knowing Steve needs something to ground him. “This is real. I'm real and I'm here and I've got you.” No more tears come, Steve just shakes. He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, but Bucky’s got one hand on the back of Steve’s head, the other running up and down his back. It feels nice—warm, intimate. When Steve finally pulls away, Bucky looks at him with a gentleness in his eyes. There’s not pity there, only concern.

They don’t have to say anything to know what the other is thinking. It’s Bucky that leans in, kisses him so softly it’s barely there. They stay like that, kissing softly for what feels like hours before Bucky pulls Steve down and tucks him into his arms.

“I love you,” Steve whispers. Bucky tenses for a moment before pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“Go to sleep, Stevie.”

Steve finally feels safe enough to sleep. 

-

When Steve wakes up, he’s alone. The place next to him is still warm, but Bucky is gone. Steve sighs, groans, and rolls over. _What am I doing?_ He doesn’t know. All he knows is there’s a gaping hole in his chest where Bucky was last night.

It fucking hurts.


	4. To Unravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness

Two weeks. They've been stuck in here for two weeks. Two weeks and shit is already hitting the fan. A fourth of the small population inside of the Target have left. They had family on the outside—husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children. Steve had been reluctant to let them go, but he can't imprison people. It's their choice to leave, to go it alone. He’s not about to take away what little freedom they have left.

The good thing is that none of his friends want to leave. They've talked about moving into Tony's massive skyscraper of a home, but they couldn't agree on it. It's made of glass, after all and the Target is made of concrete. It's more defensible with the only glass being the doors. Tony couldn't argue with that, but Steve did have to admit that it was a good idea for the future. 

Steve has realised that he hasn't spent much time with his friends in the last two weeks. He's been so busy trying to keep everything together—trying to keep himself together—that he's completely missed what's going on with Sam and Natasha. Apparently, she'd told him about the baby, and he'd been thrilled for all of ten minutes before he'd remembered their situation. The middle of an apocalypse is no place to have a child, much less raise one. But there was no way to abort, no way to get out of it in this place.

And that's why Sam and Natasha had both sides with Tony when he'd suggested moving into the tower. Bruce could do it there—they had all the medical supplies to make it possible. But the majority of the core group—Steve, Bucky, Pietro, Wanda, and Maria—had sided with Steve. That it was too dangerous to try and move this many people. Well, that was last week when there had been over a hundred in the group, before the huge exodus of people going to find their loved ones. Steve's thinking maybe it would be possible now to move.

But of course, Steve isn't thinking of that right now. He's thinking about the man not sleeping across the tent from him, the pages rustling softly from the book he's reading. He moved on to Oliver Twist after he finished the last one, and it makes Steve smile. Of course Bucky likes the classics. 

Steve and Bucky haven't had a real conversation since that night. That wonderful night when Steve hadn't had to wake up alone, when Bucky'd held him and promised not to let go. 

He hadn't kept that promise. 

Steve had fucked up yet again and told Bucky he loves him. He brings his hand up to scrub at his face and then runs it through his hair. Sitting up and untangling himself from his blankets, he gets up and angrily unzips the flap of the tent. 

"Steve—" Bucky says, the first thing he's said directly to Steve in eleven days and Steve feels sick. 

"Don't," Steve chokes out, stepping out of the tent and nearly tripping in his haste to flee. He clambers his way through sleeping bodies, making his way to the bathroom. He can barely see, but that means other people can't see what a mess he is. Steve doesn't know what's going on with him. There's so much more going on than his petty love life shit, but he can't stop himself from being upset over this. They're in a life or death situation and he's more worried about love than life? It's not right, and he knows it, but he can't get it out of his head. He wishes Bucky would just give him a straight answer. 

Steve braces himself on the sink, arms straight with head drooping between his shoulders. He looks worse and worse every night he does this--face drawn, darkening shadows under his eyes, hair losing its sheen. It almost makes him look like he's sick, and maybe he is. Is sleep deprivation a kind of sickness? If it's not, it should be. Even with the sleep aid Bruce had given him, he still can't stay asleep.  

The nightmares never fail to wake him up. 

So he's taken to coming into the bathroom every night, terrified he's going to wake Bucky up. He doesn't want Bucky's pity, not if it means going through this entire thing with him all over again. Steve'd thought he cared, and to be fair, maybe he does, but he has a cruel way of showing it. 

So Steve washes his face and runs a hand through his hair a couple times, wetting it and pushing it back. He'd taken a shower that morning--something Bruce and Tony had set up with a backup generator and hot water from the pipes. They'd used a shower head from the bathroom department. It was actually quite genius, but he already knew Bruce is basically a Stephen Hawking. Tony . . . Tony is smart, but if Steve tells him that too much it'll go to his head. 

When Steve can't justify staying in the bathroom any longer, he drifts through the store and over to the electronics where they'd set up a bunch of couches and pillows in front of the TVs. He sprawls out in his favourite chair and closes his eyes, biting down hard on his bottom lip. It's taking everything he has in him, every fucking ounce of self-control to not just up and ask Bucky what the fuck is going on. 

"Steve," Bucky says, coming up to hover over the chair Steve's in. Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Steve thinks bitterly. 

"I'm not really in the mood," Steve says flatly, keeping his eyes closed and doing his best to keep his voice steady. He hears Bucky shifting around and opens his eyes a slit to see the brunet sitting on the floor in front of him. And Jesus fucking Christ he looks so tired—he looks the way Steve feels and Steve can't help but soften a bit.  

"Just . . . let me talk? Please?" Bucky begs, looking up at Steve with those grey-blue eyes Steve can't ever resist. Bucky takes Steve's silence as an indication to continue. "I don't deserve you," he starts, looking down at his hands in his lap. Steve tries to keep it together, to keep his face expressionless, but it's a losing battle. "You . . . you're so inherently good, Steve. You care about people so much, you give so much. And I don't want to take what I don't deserve. I don't want to take something that isn't mine and wouldn't even be mine if we weren't stuck in this place." Bucky takes a deep breath and looks up at Steve, posture completely broken and defeated. "You deserve so much better. And I'm sorry I led you on. I just . . . I needed you." And Steve can't bare to see that helpless expression on his face for a minute longer, so he drops to his knees in front of the brunet and kisses him right on the mouth. Before Bucky can do anything, say anything, Steve puts his thumb over both his lips to silence him. 

"You listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes. You deserve every good thing coming to you. You deserve happiness. Fuck it. It's not even about what we deserve, it's about happiness. I fell in love with you the fucking minute I saw you wiping down the counter at Natasha's shop. You're fucking beautiful and I want to be with you. So don't take this away from me. If you feel even an ounce of love for me, give this a shot." And he finally moves his thumb, rubbing it over that red bottom lip as he goes. Bucky's lips part and he exhales harshly before tangling his fingers in Steve's hair and yanking him down into a searing kiss. 

"You fucking idiot," Bucky breathes between kisses. "Who wouldn't love you?" And Steve laughs, heart lighter than its been maybe his whole life. 

"Would you like a list?" Steve asks, a hint of self-deprecating sarcasm in his voice. Steve was smaller in his childhood--all skin and bones. But when he'd finally put on some muscle and grown almost a foot, then people wanted him. Wanted him for his body, that is. Too many times Steve had fallen for someone only to find out they had almost no real feelings for him. Bucky takes Steve's face in his hands—large, calloused hands—and bumps their foreheads together. 

"Don't do that," the brunet whispers. "Don't talk about yourself like you're not everything I ever wanted in life." And that was so the right thing to say because Steve can feel, almost physically, the mental walls he'd but up so long ago crumbling into dust. 

Bucky just holds him, shedding some tears of his own. Steve doesn't know how to put into words how he's feeling. He shouldn't feel this lonely, not really. He has Sam and Natasha and Tony and Bruce and the rest of them. But his entire goddamn life he's only been touched in a way that hurts by everyone but Natasha and Sam. The rest of his friends know not to touch him unless it's absolutely necessary. But Bucky touches him in a way he likes—softly, gently. No expectations, just holding him. His heart aches with it. 

He's so used to needles, to tests and scans and then the hard training of the military and gunfire and war. He's used to death--death of his father, his mother, his team. It's fucking fantastic to just stop. To stop everything and be held in the dead of night with no judgment. Even if they are in a less-than-exceptional place under less-than-exceptional circumstances. It's nice to be held. 

Even though Bucky hasn't said the words, it's there in his eyes. In the way he kisses Steve's temple and rubs a hand down his back. It's in the way Bucky's own tears are falling on his neck, the way he clutches Steve tighter every time Steve shakes with the emotion flowing through his body. He doesn't have to say it. Steve knows. He knows, and it shakes him to his very core.   

"You okay?" Bucky asks after a long time, after Steve's cried himself out. Steve just presses his face into Bucky's neck, pressing a kiss there. The brunet chuckles softly and nuzzles into Steve's hair. "I'll take that as a yes, then." Steve lets out a huff of laugher and Bucky pulls his face up to plant a light kiss on Steve's mouth. "We could stay here all night and I'd be okay with it," Bucky says softly, almost to himself. 

"C'mon," Steve says, pulling out of Bucky's arms and standing up. He offers Bucky his hand and the brunet takes it, allowing Steve to haul him up. "That couldn't've been comfortable for you." Bucky just smiles at him and twines their fingers together as Steve leads him back through the store to their tent. As soon as their inside, Bucky reels him in and kisses him, one hand still tangled in Steve's and the other coming up to cup the back of his head. Steve's hand flutters to Bucky's rib cage and he squeezes as he kisses back.  

"God," Bucky whispers, pulling away. "You're good at that." And Steve grins and strips his shirt off for bed. He can feel Bucky's eyes on him when he pulls his shirt over his head and he just can't stop smiling. He and Bucky lay down, a few inches apart, but that's not good enough for the brunet. Metal and flesh arms wrap around him and pull until Steve's back is snug against Bucky's chest. He's so warm and they're skin to skin and Steve feels like he's on fire. 

"I love you," Steve whispers. And when Bucky nuzzles the nape of his neck and hums happily, Steve knows that's his way of saying it back. 

 

 


	5. To Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pain, and I'm not even sorry.

"We can't just—"

"Steve," Tony interrupts for the third time.

"Tony, we can't just—"

" _Steve_ ," Tony says, kicking Steve's ankle sharply. Steve shuts up and looks at his friend, trying to calm the noises in his head. He wants to leave. He wants to take all of these people to his fucking skyscraper in Manhattan thirty minutes away. "We can't stay here. The power is off, people are sick and cold and we can't help them here. My tower runs on mostly solar power. We'd be safe there. We can confine everything to the top thirty floors." And then as if Tony realises how ridiculous and pretentious _top thirty floors_ sounds, he stops and starts again. "It's fully stocked. We can contact the military from there. You may be retired, but people still listen to you. You and Sergeant Hottie over there." He nods at Bucky who's standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve, face expressionless. But whatever Steve decides, Bucky will back him, Steve knows this. It's been three weeks since they'd admitted their feelings, a month in a half since they'd barricaded themselves in this stupid place, and Tony wanted to leave.

"We can't—" Steve tries again, but Tony gives him a _Look_ and he closes his mouth again.

"Listen to me. Everyone is going stir crazy. We can't get away from each other. It would be nice to have doors. It's a luxury, but it's a luxury we can afford if we can get everyone to the tower. We'd also have a higher vantage point. I have so much equipment there. We could do some good to help. There are some SUV's out there, Bruce and I can hotwire them. You and Bucky and Natasha and Sam all have that crazy military driving training, we can do this." And Steve can't help but admit that he's right. 

They'll starve if they stay here. And, selfishly. he wants so badly to have some time alone, some place that he can sit and not have to worry about people invading his privacy. The rest of them are probably thinking that, too. How many of those stupid people in those stupid zombie movies gone crazy because of lack of personal space and boredom? If they really can get everyone to Stark's, they can contact Steve's CO and figure out what to do next. It's just a plus that everyone will have their own rooms and some fucking privacy for once.

He and Bucky will have their own room. Sam and Natasha will have theirs. Bruce and Tony. The rest of the couples, the families. No more crying kids at three in the morning. No more loud arguments between spouses that Steve can hear from across the store. Doors. Tony's sound-proofing. Peace.

So Steve considers it, allowing the rest of the group to chat about it, already planning a vote. Bucky's metal hand comes up to rest on the small of Steve's back comfortingly and Steve presses back into it gratefully. It's a good idea. A really good idea. They just need a plan on how to get there. They won't be able to take more than four cars, and that's already dangerous enough.

"Some are thinking of leaving," Pietro says to Steve, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looks up at the blond. "They wish to find their own way." And Steve nods. He's not sure if he himself would stay if all the people he cares about weren't here with him. Most of these people are still practically strangers—they never tried to get to know the people they were thrown together with. Never tried to get along or to make friendships. 

"Let them leave," Steve says, too tired to deal with this. "Figure out who's leaving and who's staying. Get a headcount of who we're taking with us. Give out the rest of the supplies to the people leaving." Pietro nods and heads off. Steve really likes him. He can take care of himself, but he also kind of hero-worships Steve. The younger man has really grown on Steve, really become a good friend. And the sister, Wanda—she fits in very well with Natasha and Sam. Very passionate, always willing to help wherever she can.

Steve doesn't realise he's shaking until Bucky points it out.

"C'mon, dollface," he says, leading Steve over to their tent. "Lay down, let's get you some water." So Steve lays down where their sleeping bags are and closes his eyes. His hands are trembling and his head feels like it's going to explode. _I need to sleep more_ , he thinks. It's hard being a leader because it seems like everyone needs something from him all the time.

"God," Steve mutters, closing his eyes and taking some deep breaths. His head is pounding—dehydration probably. He can't remember if he's had any water today. Bucky presses a bottle into his hand and Steve sits up slowly to drink it. Bucky's looking at him with a worried expression, a little furrow in his brow. Steve reaches forward and smooths it out with his thumb before running his hand through Bucky's hair. 

"Better?" the brunet asks. Steve nods and Bucky's mouth tugs up into a small smile. "You gotta take care of yourself, Stevie. You can't help anyone else if you don't take care of yourself." And Steve knows he's right, he just forgets. And even though he has Bucky now, his nightmares still wake him up at night.

"Do you think we should leave?" Steve asks, lying back down. Bucky settles down beside him on his side, propped up on his elbow with his head in his hand.

"I think it's a good idea in theory," the brunet replies. "But it'll be dangerous to try and move everyone. Even if just a few people decide to come." And then Bucky looks down at Steve and frowns. "I don't know why people would try to go it alone though. That's fucking stupid. I mean . . . I understand if they have families or kids they need to get to, but the singles that are leaving? Makes no fucking sense that they would break off from a larger group." And Steve agrees.

"I have to say, though—If my mom were still alive, I would go after her, too. Like . . . I would've left the second this happened to go find her. Or if Nat or Sam or any of you, really, hadn't been with us. I would've come to find you. I wouldn't be able to just leave you guys like that." The brunet nods and leans down to kiss Steve softly.

"Even when I was acting like a dick?" he asks softly, grey-blue eyes peering down at him. Steve chuckles softly.

"Yeah," Steve whispers. "Even then. It didn't make me love you any less." Bucky bites his lip and makes a pained noise in the back of his throat.

"I don't think I'll ever stop apologising for that," the older man murmurs. "I was . . . I should've been there for you. I . . . I didn't know how bad it was. I didn't . . . I didn't even ask." He's stumbling over his words and they haven't had this conversation yet and Steve's heart is pounding. "I should've at least been there as a friend. But I just . . . if I had let myself be near you, close enough to comfort, I would've cracked. And I didn't—don't—deserve you. But for some unknown reason, you want me. You chose me. And I'm here now. I'll be here for as long as you want me." His eyes are bright, hopeful. And if he doesn’t know how much Steve loves him, how much Steve will fight to keep him, then Steve isn’t doing his job right. 

"For fucking _ever_ ," Steve breathes, crushing their mouths together before Bucky can say anything else. "Don't doubt yourself. Don't doubt us." And Bucky kisses him again, softly, tenderly, before tucking Steve into his arms. It's late and Steve is tired and the others can figure out the vote themselves. Right now, Steve is warm and content and sleepy in Bucky's arms, so he lets himself rest.

-

The vote is in favour of leaving by one person in their group. Maria, Sharon, Steve, and Bucky had voted to stay. Bruce, Tony, Natasha, Sam, and Wanda had voted to leave. Pietro was always going to side with Wanda. They weren’t always in agreement, but he didn’t want to be where she wasn’t, and she felt the same about him. So if one of them decides to leave, the other is going to go. Their loyalty is unshakable. Seeing the two of them makes Steve ache once again for a sibling.

The rest of them are going out in groups or by themselves to find family or to go back to their houses and shack up. Steve really doesn’t understand the reasoning behind that. They want to leave the bigger group? Isn’t that how people die in horror movies? They run straight into the danger instead of taking the obviously safer route _away_ from the monsters trying to kill them.

Idiots. All of them.

Steve doesn’t see their reasoning, but like he’s told his friends, he can't just take them prisoner. He can't make them stay, but a part of him knows that by letting them go, he’s letting them go to their deaths. To be fair, any of them could die at any time. But Steve and the people going with him have a better chance of survival. One, they’re going to Tony’s tower. The tower that’s made of bulletproof glass and steel. Two, they have two of the smartest scientists in the world on their side. Three, they have four military veterans on their side. Steve could probably think of more, but he just woke up.

So they’re leaving. All of them. It will be safer for those going with Steve, but they’re all leaving. All going into the unknown.

And it’s terrifying.

-

A few hours later, Bruce calls them all together. He'd given most of the water and imperishable foods to those who were leaving and filled up the actual water bottles from the store at the water fountain to hand out to those going to Tony's. By the time Steve and Bucky got over there, the store was mostly deserted. Those who were going out on their own had already left through the back and those who stayed were together in a group in electronics looking over Bruce's map. Steve has already memorised the directions, the route they are all taking.

Bucky holds Steve's hand through it, squeezing gently every now and then to reassure him. They're going to be fine. They'll all get there and everything is going to be fine.

"Can't wait to get you alone, Stevie-doll," Bucky whispers in Steve's ear. It sends a shiver down Steve's spine in anticipation.

"Don't distract me," Steve mutters back, looking around to make sure no one's heard them. There's a flush creeping up to his face as Bucky slides his metal hand around Steve's waist and into his back pocket. "Buck," Steve whines, giving the brunet his best puppy dog look. Bucky just pecks him on the lips and grins like an idiot.

"If you two are quite done," Tony says, getting Steve's attention. He realises that everyone is looking at them. Mostly smiles, but Tony looks agitated. Steve blushes harder and looks down at his feet, appropriately chastised. But God, he hasn't had sex in years and he misses it and it's fucking distracting to have Bucky's hands on him while he's trying to be serious.

Tony continues talking about who's riding with who and who's driving and Steve can barely pay attention. He's gone from being aroused straight into panic mode. Because it's possible they won't make it. That they'll get trapped or separated or something worse. And Steve can't lose his friends. He can't. 

Bucky notices the stiffening of his posture and pulls him aside, back where the others can't see them. The brunet's face is all concern, the usual cocky smirk gone. 

"What can I do?" Steve hears Bucky ask. But it's like he's hearing it through water, the haze of panic flooding through his body. "Sit down," Bucky orders. Steve does, head spinning. "I'll be right back." And Steve wants to tell him not to go, but he can't make his muscles work to form the words so he just stays where he is and takes deep breaths.

They're going to leave. They're going to go out into the fucking zombie-infested wasteland that New York City has become and try to get to Tony's tower in Manhattan thirty minutes away and across the Brooklyn Bridge. This is such a bad idea. A terrible idea. They could die. They could get stuck somewhere with nowhere to go and Steve doesn't have that many bullets left in his guns and he can't lose his friends. Natasha is pregnant and she and Sam are just starting their family and Steve just found his life in Bucky and God, Steve can't lose these people.

Steve is cold all over—shaking with it, even. He's had panic attacks before, but they're not usual this bad. All his attempts to control his breathing are in vain and he's alone. His hands are shaking when he buries his face in them, running both hands through his hair and grasping at the strands.

"Deep breaths," Natasha says. He knows it her without opening his eyes. There's a hand on his shoulder, and he flinches away at the contact. He can't be touched right now, not like this. She moves it, and the next time she speaks, her voice is closer. "You know how to do this. Concentrate on your breathing. In, hold for three seconds, then out. Yeah, like that." She keeps whispering encouragements to him until the worst of the attack has passed, until his brain is clear and functioning again. When he finally moves his hands and opens his eyes, he sees Natasha crouched in front of him and Bucky sitting beside her. He scrubs at his face with his hand and then runs it through his hair, taking another deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he says, directing his words at Natasha, but Bucky flinches at the apology. "It all go . . . too big. For a moment." Natasha shakes her head and gives him a small smile.

"Don't apologise, Steve. It happens." She kisses his cheek and straightens up, sparing him once last glance before sauntering away to the rest of the group.

Steve doesn't look at Bucky even though he can feel the brunet's eyes on him. He knows it's not Bucky fault, but he left Steve in the middle of a panic attack. You don't just leave people with anxiety by themselves when they have episodes. Even if you don't know what to do . . . ugh. Steve can't even be mad at him, though.

"I'm sorry," Bucky whispers. "I didn't want to leave you. I just . . . I don't know how to deal with panic attacks. I know how to deal with my own, but they're different for every person and—" Steve shuts him up by leaning over and kissing him square on the mouth. Bucky lets out a little noise of surprise before melting into it and kissing back.

"It's okay, Buck," Steve says, holding the brunet's eyes. "You got Nat. You did what you knew to do. And then you stayed." Steve gives Bucky a watery smile--the best he can do right now—and shakily gets to his feet. Bucky pushes himself up and takes Steve into his arms.

"You ready for this?" Bucky asks gently next to Steve's ear, hand rubbing soothingly over Steve's back.

"Yeah. Let's go."

 -

Steve keeps his mind clear and focused as he pulls the car out of the lot. They hadn't had any problems getting to the car or getting inside--it had been easy, really. But now for the hard part—actually getting there. Steve is following Natasha with Bucky in the passenger seat and Pietro, Wanda, Maria, and Tony in the seats behind him, completely silent. They're on edge, too—all of them. Steve thinks, at least Tony, is realising how very dangerous this is.

They pass by a group of Infected, but while inside the car, the creatures can't smell them. _As long as we don't get out of the car, we'll be okay,_ Steve thinks. Bucky's hand has found it's way to rest on Steve's knee, a reassuring gesture. Steve appreciates that, but he doesn't take his hands off the wheel or his eyes off the road. He can't afford to. Everything could change in the split second he takes to look over at Bucky. 

They're crossing the bridge now, but it's basically a game of dodgeball out there. Abandoned cars are scattered all over the road, bodies ripped apart to the point that they can't be raised. It makes Steve sick looking at them as he passes by, but what's worse is the thirty or so Infected milling about. Steve takes his eyes off the road then for one second, _one fucking second_ , and then the worst happens.

Their car breaks down.

Their gas tank is empty.

This can't be happening. No. No no no no no. This can't be how it ends. This can't be the way Steve dies. 

"Holy shit," Tony mutters from the back. As long as they stay in the car, they're safe. As long as they stay in the car, the Infected won't bother them. 

"We have to get to Natasha," Pietro whispers. Steve barely hears him the haze of panic. But he's right. Natasha has stopped about ten yards in front of them, probably trying to figure out why they've stopped. They have to make it from their SUV to Natasha's as quickly as possible and avoid the Infected along the way.

"We have to get out of the car," Bucky says. Steve looks at his friends in the back, and then to Bucky and then grabs his assault rifle from where it's been sitting on the centre console. He unbuckles his seatbelt and flicks the safety off before replying in a flat voice,

"I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what comes after the rise?
> 
> The fall.


	6. To Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Steve, if you jump, I'll fucking kill you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for this.

_We have to get to Natasha._

_We have to get out of the car._

_I can do this_ , Steve thinks. _All I have to do is get out of the car and run for it. I can do this._

But then he looks around. He sees the Infected taking notice of them, rotting faces turning to look with glazed-over eyes waiting for their prey to come out into the open. Steve feels exposed, completely vulnerable.  

_I can't do this._

They need a plan. They need to plan but they don't have time. Every second they spend sitting here is another second for the Infected to catch on and come closer. Every second is another opportunity for the creatures to attack. So Steve looks at his friends in the back, and then to Bucky. 

Bucky, with concern in his eyes, takes Steve's hand and squeezes. The brunet is looking at Steve, measuring his breathing, probably. Natasha had told him that's what she does when Steve gets panicky. Steve looks back out onto the street where some of the Infected have looked up, taking notice of them. And he can't do this. 

How can he expect to lead these people when he's frozen by fear? These four people in this car are so important to him. He can't lose them. And if things go bad, he knows Natasha and Sam will come out to help and he can't deal with people dying for him. He has to breathe, has to calm down. He has to be able to do this. 

But he's freaking the fuck out. 

"If we are to go, we should go now," Pietro says from the back. Steve nods. He's right. They have to do this right now. This isn't a game. They're not safe here. They have to go. And Steve has to get these people, his friends, to safety or he'll never forgive himself. 

"Let's do this," he says, all false confidence. But the rest of the people in the car are looking for him to lead, for him to be positive. He can't show them fear. Tony and Bucky can see through him, maybe. They've known him for long enough. But Steve can see that Pietro and Wanda are afraid, and why wouldn't they be? They didn't ask for this, none of them did. To be thrown into this chaos, to be forced to risk their lives on a day-by-day basis.  

It's not fair. 

None of this is fair. Not any of it. Just because some scientist fucked up doesn't mean they should all suffer for it. It isn't fair, and Steve curses quietly, digging through his backpack to hand Bucky a gun. 

"Okay," Steve says, taking hold of the situation. "We all get out at the same time, Bucky on point, I'll cover the back. And then we sprint. Got it?" He looks in the rear-view mirror to see the head nods, and then unlocks the doors. "Here goes everything,” he mutters, and then they open the doors. 

- 

The first thing Steve notices is how cold it is. The wind is blowing violently enough to whip his hair in his face, the sky overcast and looking like it's going to storm. The sky is a dark grey colour, thunder booming loudly in his ears, leaving them ringing. Steve has never liked storms. They always make him nervous, like something terrible is just around the corner. Lightning cracks overhead, illuminating the dark sky. Steve looks up just as the rain starts. 

Great. Rain and zombies. That's a great combination. 

They take formation—Bucky in the front, Steve in the back, just like they said—and move out. They're jogging towards the car when an Infected lunges for them. Steve stops and fires, putting a bullet right through the creature's head. Right as he goes to join the rest of the group, three more infected start chasing after them. It's too risky to shoot right at them, so Steve sprints after the group right as Bucky turns around to shoot at the Infected.  

"Go! I got this!" Steve yells at the brunet, waving him away. Bucky looks at him, fierce stubbornness in his eyes, but does as he says. Steve outranks him, after all. Picking off a few Infected along the way, Steve runs for the SUV. It's so close, but then he hears something. Crying. Looking over his shoulder, he sees a kid, about seven years old, hiding in a car. He's got black hair and green eyes and he's alone and of course Steve can't just leave him. He’s just a kid. How could Steve live with himself if he left a kid behind?

 _This is how people die in those movies_ , Steve thinks to himself, changing his direction to circle back. They save the fucking kids. 

"Steve what are you doing?" he hears Bucky yell behind him, but there's no time to explain. More and more Infected have begun to pour into the bridge and he has to get to this kid. It's pouring and there's rain in his face and his hair is plastered to his head and his clothes are soaked and weighing him down. When he goes to shoot one of the creatures, he realises he's out of bullets and out of options. So he grabs the kid and shoves him towards the SUV. 

"Go!" Steve tells him, turning around and grabbing his pistol from his belt. Now, Steve is a pretty accurate shot, but when the targets are lurching all over the place and he's this far away from them . . . well, no one's perfect. Steve is backed up against the railing of the bridge, shooting fruitlessly into the mob of bloody corpses lumbering towards him.  

"Steve!" Bucky yells again, closer this time. Shots ring out and five of the Infected go down. Steve can see the brunet approaching, gun in hand. 

Now, unlike Steve, Bucky was a sniper during his time in the military. He can shoot someone from god knows how far away and hit them right between the eyes. So even with the handgun Bucky has, Steve knows every shot is hitting it’s mark. And at first, Steve is glad that he’s got Bucky for backup. 

But then his heart drops.  

They can't both die, not like this. 

"Bucky, you have to go!" Steve calls over the thunder and wind. "You have to get out of here!" But Steve can see, even from this far away, that there's no chance in hell of that happening.  

"No, not without you!" the brunet yells back, continuing to shoot. Steve takes another step back and then he has nowhere else to go. The guard is off of the edge of the bridge—if he takes another step back, he'll fall. But going forward isn't an option. 

"Buck, just go," Steve says, letting the wind carry his voice. There's no way Bucky can get to him before the Infected force him off the bridge. It's either jump, pray he doesn't die from that, and then try to get it safety, or die and be resurrected. So he steps back a half-step, testing the ledge. 

"Don't you do it," Bucky yells, fighting his way through the six or so Infected between him and Steve. There are more coming from the far side of the bridge. Bucky needs to go so Natasha can get out before the creatures block that side of the bridge, too. "Steve, you can't!" But Steve has to. It's his only chance of survival, the only way Bucky will leave him and get to the car and be safe. So he straightens up and takes a deep breath. His has about thirty seconds before the Infected reach him. 

"You go to the tower," Steve says, looking straight at Bucky. "You go to the tower and you stay there and you stay safe. You help the others find a way to end this." Bucky is fighting through the creatures now trying to get to him. It's useless. There are too many. "You take care of yourself. Take care of the others. You leave me, and you don't look back." Steve looks behind him, over the edge and down to the water. People have died from this. This is insane. He's going to lose everything. _Do I really want to do this?_ he asks himself. But he knows he has no choice. Natasha's getting out of the car and making her way toward them, and Steve has to do this now. If he doesn’t do it now, he’ll never do it. Not with the way Bucky is looking at him.

"Steve, if you jump, I'll fucking kill you." But Steve doesn't have to jump. While he'd been looking away, an Infected had crept up on him, close enough that when Steve turns around, he has no time to react other than to throw up his arm. The creature sinks it's teeth into Steve's flesh with all it's might, biting down to the bone. Steve cries out, pain shooting through him and blood running down his arm. He hears Bucky and Natasha yelling for him as he falls over the ledge, taking the creature with him.  

Time stops. He's in free fall, the creature still latched onto his arm. The wind and rain on his face, thunder rolling in the background, and all he can think is it can't end this way. He can't die without telling his friends goodbye. He can't die without knowing they're safe. It's not fair. 

Thank god for military training or Steve might not have caught the metal bar hanging off the bridge. The creature had fallen into the water, but Steve was still holding on. One hand had caught the bar and he tries to pull himself up to grasp it with both hands, but the wind is whipping his body around and the rain has made the metal slick. He can't get a good grip. His muscles are burning; he doesn't have long.  

"Steve!" Bucky cries, leaning over the edge and reaching his hand out. "C'mon, baby, you can make it."  

Steve makes a decision then. A decision that may be the best and worst he's ever made. But he has to protect Bucky. He has to protect his friends. He can't. He just can't be the reason any of them get hurt or Infected.  

He's been bitten.  

He's going to die. 

There's no changing that. No reversing it. No going back. 

"I love you," he tells the brunet, and then he lets go. 

-

James Barnes knows pain, emotional and physical. He'd lost his parents at a young age, lost his arm in the military, gone through months and months of rehab to get his metal prosthetic and even after getting it, it still hurts on a daily basis. He's been through so much, and he's come out on the other side. 

But watching Steve fall of the bridge, that's something he can't wrap his head around. He can hear himself screaming, can feel Natasha's arms around him as she pulls him away from the ledge. He wants to jump after Steve, wants to be wherever Steve is, even if that means he's dead. He doesn't want to live without him. Doesn't want to be alive when Steve isn't.  

He wants to curse whatever God exists. Wants to beg, wants to fucking plead for Steve back, safe in his arms. He wants to kill every creature on the bridge, every scientist that worked on the virus. He wants to curse the parents of that child, even the child himself for taking Steve away from him. Because of course Steve couldn’t resist saving the fucking kid. Pure rage flows through him, turning his blood to fire and his heart to ice. He wants to push and shove and fight to get to Steve, but Steve is gone. 

And for what? Why? Why would Steve just give up and let go? Bucky was right there, Bucky could've grabbed him and pulled him to safety but Steve had to be a fucking martyr. Bucky could've—would've—found a way to cure him. But Steve . . . Steve didn't want to risk Bucky's safety. Is that what love does to a person? Make you feel like you would rather essentially kill yourself than try to find a way to help yourself? Is that what Steve's love for him did? If that's what love is, Bucky doesn't want it. He'd rather never have Steve in his life, never be able to hold him or kiss him or love him back, than have this. This hole in his chest where it's all darkness and empty space.  

He'll never know if that's what made Steve jump, made him let go. Steve is gone. Has fallen into darkness and isn't coming back. Bucky can't get to him now, and Steve can't possibly claw his way back. There's no reversing what's happened, no changing it. No matter how much he wants to fight, how much he wants to kill the things that killed Steve, he absolutely will not let Steve die in vain. Steve wanted Bucky to be safe, told Bucky to protect the others. And that's what he's going to do.  

So Bucky allows Natasha to pull him into the car and drive him away from the spot that Steve fell, driving him away from the remnants of Steve forever. Because if Bucky dies, Steve died for nothing. And Bucky can't have that.

If Steve can't live, Bucky will live for him.


	7. To Suffer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter, kind of.

It's been two weeks. Two weeks at Tony Stark's home and nothing has been solved. The military is useless, the government in shambles. Bucky is thinking that it's kind of up to them now--the group in the tower--to make a difference. To find a cure or a vaccination or whatever that will help exterminate the Infected from the Earth. It'll be easy, right?

They had joined the existing people at the tower--the CEO Pepper Potts, the best physicist in the world and Thor'a girlfriend Jane Foster, and what's left of Tony's staff. It's still a small group of people, but it's family. And Bucky needs family right now. With Pepper and Jane joining their group, they have some of the smartest people in the world on their side. So they should be able to figure this out.

But Bucky can barely get out of bed in the morning.

He lies there awake all night just thinking. Overthinking every little thing he could've done to help Steve.

He could've asked Steve to be on point.

Could've gone after him when Steve told him to leave him.

Could've gotten to him sooner.

Could've reached farther.

Could've seen the creature coming before it bit Steve.

There's so much he could've done and he replays it in his head every night when he's alone, when there's no one there to try to comfort him. No one there to tell him that's gave wouldn't want this, wouldn't want Bucky agonising over what happened. No Natasha to mother hen him, no Sam to try and make him feel better, no Tony to drink away the night with, no Pietro or Wanda to look at him like he's a kicked puppy.

He's so sick of everyone thinking he's suddenly going to break or snap or fall apart.

And yeah, he's fucking devastated, but everyone else is too. Steve didn't just belong to Bucky. He belonged to everyone else. They were all close with Steve, and they're all grieving. But everyone has eyes on him, and it makes him feel like he's under some sort of microscope that he'll never get away from.

They're all trying to distract him with movies and sparring and science and finding this cure or whatever and he appreciates it, he really does. But right now, laying in this bed, the bed he would've shared with Steve, the pain weighs him down. It presses him into the mattress, paralysing him. And he wants to cry, he really does. But the tears haven't come. He hasn't cried in the two weeks since it happened.

Maybe it's unhealthy.

Maybe it's what's keeping him together.

Bucky doesn't know, but he wishes the tears would come. He wishes they would, because maybe that would help with the pain. Maybe then he would be able to start dealing with his grief. Maybe then the group would t look at him like he's abnormal. Everyone else has cried. Sometimes Bucky will walk into the main room and see Natasha curled up in Sam's arms just sobbing. Sometimes he'll catch Tony wiping away a tear at breakfast. Sometimes he'll see Pietro pull Wanda into a hug--both teary-eyed, both shaking. It seems like everyone has someone but him.

Sam and Natasha and Clint, Tony and Bruce and Pepper, Pietro and Wanda, Thor and Jane.

And then there's Bucky.

And the kid.

That fucking kid. Bucky really can't blame him, though. He's just that--a kid. A kid with dead parents. And Bucky can relate to dead parents. And fuck, he can't even blame Steve. Steve was just being Steve. A big-hearted man with a hero complex who's been hurt too many times to leave someone behind. So Bucky has no one to blame. No one but himself. And even then, Natasha has told him a million times to stop blaming himself. That he can't change things and he needs to start coping and working through it rather than running it over and over in his head.

He can still see Steve's face. Can still see the way his lips formed the last I love you. Can see the goddamn determination in those sky-blue eyes. And he knows Steve wouldn't want this. Wouldn't want Bucky to mope and cry and hurt. Steve would want him to do something. To be a part of the cure. Steve told him to do that. To do that for him.

So Bucky tries. He gets out of bed every morning and socialises and goes to the movie nights and eats with everyone and helps Tony and Bruce research the virus and go through the files the government sent them from the lab that made it. This idiot named Alexander Pierce who decided biological warfare was a good idea. Who even endorsed this?

Bruce thinks they're getting somewhere with it, but Bucky isn't so sure. It seems like they've done a lot of research and not so much experimentation. They need to bring in a live subject, which is what Tony and Bruce are arguing about now.

"If we could just get a live one, we could run tests," Tony is saying, popping blueberries in his mouth. Bruce looks unimpressed.

"We're not there yet and you know it."

"We don't have time to play games," Tony says, setting the blueberries down. _Oh it's getting serious,_ Bucky thinks. _Tony put the berries down_. "We have to get as far ahead of this as we can. Right now the human population outnumbers the zombies--"

"Infected," Jane interrupts from her place in front of the computer. Technical, as always.

"Whatever," Tony says. "My point is that we have a small window here and we need to take it." And to be honest, Bucky agrees with him. Bruce sighs and sits back in his chair.

"Okay, we'll put it to a vote. Because if we're bringing one of them here, everyone will be in danger." And that's true. If they bring one of them in here, everyone will be at risk. And how will they even catch one without getting bitten.

"Fine. Let's go." Tony leads the way upstairs from the lab and they find that everyone else is in the main room eating lunch. They all look up when the four of them enter, expecting good news.

"We need to put something to a vote," Bruce says, getting everyone's attention.

"We have everything we need for a cure," Tony says, getting relieved smiles out of everyone. "But we need something to test it on. We need a live subject"

"And I said it was too risky," Bruce interrupts. "So we vote. All in favour of bringing in a live subject to test, raise your hand." Bucky, Tony, and Clint raise their hands automatically. Jane raises hers after a few seconds, and then Thor.

"This will help?" Pietro asks. Tony nods, and Pietro and Wanda raise their hands.

"Do what you need to do," Natasha says, settling down against San on the couch. Sam nods and Bucky looks over to Pepper. She just nods once and quietly exits the room.

"I guess that's everyone," Bruce murmurs. "Time to go catch one."


	8. To Resurface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of Steve. And sex.

_Bucky, you have to go! You have to get out of here!_

_No! Not without you!_

_You go to the tower and you stay there and you stay safe. You help the others find a way to end this. You take care of yourself. Take care of the others. You leave me, and you don't look back._

_Steve, if you jump, I'll fucking kill you._

_Steve! C'mon, baby, you can make it._

_I love you._

-

Darkness and pain. That's all Steve feels right now. Pain through his entire body, coursing through his veins and clouding his mind. Darkness that reaches up from the abyss to take him into the depths, that threatens to take him from this world. But he has to hang on. He has to grasp at whatever light he can find. 

_Who wouldn't love you?_

Blue eyes and a radiant smile and a metal arm.

Warm hands on his face, soft lips on his mouth.

Hot breath on his neck, a warm arm slung around his waist.

_C'mon, baby, you can make it._

Steve opens his eyes with a gasp, choking up water. He's on the riverbank, the Brooklyn Bridge a hazy line in the distance. He's . . . confused. That jump should've killed him. That bite should've killed him. Why isn't he dead? Why hasn't he been turned into one of the Infected?

Steve looks down at his arm. It's still oozing blood, but his skin is still his skin, his mind still his own. The news and all the reports they'd seen had said the virus worked almost instantaneously.

So why isn't Steve Infected?

Not that he's complaining. Oh, God is he not complaining. But it doesn't make sense. He was bitten and he's not a brain-dead zombie. It has to have been enough time for him to turn, right? For him to have gotten this far down from where he fell, it had to have been a while.

God, his head is pounding and his body is freezing. He didn't think about the fact that it's November before he jumped into the river. He hadn't thought he'd survive long enough to be cold. But here he is--in only a t-shirt and very ripped jeans, on the riverbank.

 _I need to get inside before I freeze_ , Steve thinks. It really is cold, and he has to steel himself before he gets up. Everything hurts. He can feel bruises all along his back and shoulders and he aches everywhere. He inspects himself slowly, documenting the cuts and bruises and broken things. He has two broken fingers and what feels like a sprained ankle, but he can live with that. He can still get to the tower. At least nothing important is broken.

It hurts, but at least he's alive.

He's alive and all he has to do is walk back to the tower . . . however far away that is. But he's a soldier. He can do it. He can do this.

He has to.

 -

 It's been almost two weeks—ish? Steve can't really tell time anymore—and Steve feels like he's no closer to the tower than he was last week. At least he can see it now. He's coming up on the inner city, able to see what lights are still left.

 It'd been slow going at first. He hadn't been sure if he was going to get Infected or if he was immune or what, so he'd only traveled a few hours at a time, and very slowly. It didn't help that his body was beaten and bruised and screaming at him to just find a nice place to lay down and sleep for twenty-four hours straight.

 But he can't do that. He doesn't have any time for sleep or rest because he has to get back.

 He has to get back because all of his friends think he's dead.

He thinks about that as he picks his way across the street through abandoned cars and broken street lights. His friends think he's dead. They've mourned him. They're having to deal with a death that never happened. Oh God. Bucky. Bucky thinks he's dead. And Natasha. And Sam and Tony and Bruce and holy shit. Steve hasn't let himself think about this before. It's too painful.

Steve tries to think of how he'd feel if the situation were reversed with any of them and . . . he can't even imagine how he'd feel. Devastated. Lost. But he'll be back soon. If he picks up his pace, he'll be there by nightfall. So he jogs through the city, keeping to the shadows as the snow starts to fall. It's cold, and the running keeps him warm enough to continue.

He'd had to break into someone's home to get new clothes and something to splint his fingers and ankle. He'd only taken what he needed—pants, a shirt, a jacket, some Aleeve and some gauze. He'd rationalised it to himself as "borrowing," but he knows he won't give them back. Their owner is probably dead. Which is also a depressing thought.

He can't wait to be back with his friends, to give Natasha and Sam a hug, to be able to tease Tony again, to see Bruce and Thor and be able to talk with Pietro and Wanda again. But most of all, to have Bucky in his arms again, to be able to kiss that soft mouth and just hang on for as long as Bucky will let him.

He has to get back to the tower.

So he runs a little faster. But he can't be too loud, can't run as fast as he can because then people will see him. The Infected will see him. And they may not be able to smell him, may not really care about him, but if they see him sprinting, they'll follow and then his friends will be in danger. And he can't let that happen. 

So he jogs as fast as he can without being noticed, getting closer and closer to the tower. He trips a couple of times along the way, adding to the bruises on his body, but he doesn't care. He'll crawl there if he has to. He needs to get back to his friends, his family. They've mourned for too long. He can endure the pain for them.

He makes quick work of getting to the tower, but stops dead when he sees people walking out. People being Tony, Bucky, and Sam. What the fuck? Why are they outside? And as Steve looks them over, he can see how tired they all look. Especially Bucky.

He's cut his hair a bit, not enough that he can't put it back, but enough that Steve can see the difference. He looks pale, almost to the point of sickly. His eyes are dull and he looks like he's lost weight. God, he looks terrible. And Steve doesn't want to take all the blame for that--they probably have a lot of other things going on—but he'll take most of it.

Tony and Sam look the same—tired, on edge. And who wouldn't be, venturing out like this? At dusk? What the hell are they thinking? Steve had passed too many packs of Infected to let them do whatever the hell it is they're doing. So he walks closer. 

He's unsure of what he's even going to say. Oh, hi, I know you thought I was dead, but, uh, surprise? Not dead? Jesus fucking Christ this is a mess. What do you say to your friends when they think you're dead? When you should be dead, when all of the odds were stacked against you, but you're still here? When you show up on their fucking doorstep in the middle of a zombie apocalypse with a not-fully-healed bite on your arm, covered in blood and dirt, claiming you didn't die, you just got really fucked up from the fall.

No big deal, right?

Except for when Steve realises that while he'd been stuck in his own head, the three of them had trapped him. Tony and Sam in front and Bucky behind to catch him off-guard.

 _Oh God._  

They don't know it's him.

They think he's an Infected.

He tries to speak, tries to tell them, but his voice is hoarse from disuse and lack of water. He can't speak, can't tell them. And his clothes are torn and bloody, his face unrecognisable under layers of blood and dirt. Bucky brings a taser to his side and the electricity shoots through him, bringing him to his knees. He cries out, a mangled sound of pain escaping his lips. God, it hurts. His muscles are twitching, feeling like they're trying to jump out of his skin. The taser makes contact again in the same place, and Steve wants to scream, but nothing comes out. 

"Shock it again, Barnes!" Tony says, coming closer. "We have to get it inside." Bucky brings the taser down between Steve's shoulders this time, and Steve flinches away from the pain, curling in on himself. This is his punishment. This is his punishment for putting them through this. Or maybe he's just a masochist.

"Do these things even pass out?" Bucky calls, posing to bring the taser down again. But Steve can't do it. He can't take that pain again.

"Please," he whispers, hoping to God that Bucky can hear him. He can't . . . he _can't_. He can't feel that again, can't endure it knowing that Bucky's the one doing it. And he won't fight back. He can't. Because he can't hurt Bucky. He couldn't ever bring himself to do that. So he doesn't lash out, he just curls in tighter on himself when Bucky hesitates, silent tears running down his face. "Please stop," he whispers, voice shaking with the pain. The places where Bucky had tasered him burn. They burn and he can still feel the electricity as it tingles through his blood.

"Wait!" Bucky yells, as Sam and Tony come up to help. "Stay where you are," he tells them. And for one blessed moment, no one touches him. Nothing hurts him. Relief washes through him. Maybe they think he's not worth it, that he's too hard to kill or whatever it is they'd planned to do with whatever Infected they caught. But whatever it is that made Bucky stop, he isn't complaining. He just wants to sleep.

"What is it, Barnes?" Sam asks, voice closer than it was. But when Steve opens his eyes, Bucky isn't looking at Sam, he's looking at Steve. Right at him, grey-blue eyes close enough that Steve can see the dark purple bruises under them. He can see the pain reflected there. He can see the confusion, the open doubt. He can see the questions written on Bucky's face.

"It can't be," the brunet murmurs. But it is, and Steve wants to say that. Wants to scream it from the rooftops, but his voice fails him again. He coughs violently, squeezing his eyes shut and making himself smaller. His body shakes with it, the places where the taser made contact with his skin irritated by the fabric of his shirt jostling as he coughs. But when he looks back up, there are tears in Bucky's eyes. And that shouldn't happen. Bucky shouldn't cry. He should never cry. " _Steve_?"

Steve wants so much to respond, wants to say something, anything, but he's so tired. He's tired and he'd finally made it to the tower by some miracle only to get tasered by the man he loves and mistaken for an Infected. Which . . . fucking sucks. He just wants to sleep, and so he lets his eyes close. He can explain later, he can talk later. He just needs to sleep. 

-

When he wakes up, he's tucked under fluffy, warm blankets. His whole body feels cool, like someone's put something numbing on his wounds. It feels heavenly to be in a bed, to have had his wounds tended to. He doesn't care who did it, but it feels great to not be in pain. He doesn't have a shirt on, only his boxer briefs, which is good because the rough material of the clothes he was wearing were irritating the cuts and the taser burns on his skin. 

The next thing he notices is that there's someone beside him. There's a weight pulling him toward the middle of the bed, and by the tension of the blankets, that weight is on top of the covers, not under them. Steve takes a deep breath, and even if he hadn't heard the pages of a book rustling, he'd've known it was Bucky. Bucky smells like earth and rain and that's the scent that floods Steve's senses right now. Earth and rain and Bucky.

Steve wants to speak, wants to roll over and push his way into Bucky's arms, but his limbs are still sleep heavy, eyes still won't open. So he lays there and just breathes Bucky in, takes in the moment of silence with the warmth that is the man he loves beside him.

Eventually, he needs to stretch, needs to get up and move around. So he forces his eyes open to see he's on one of the generic guest floors--yes, floors--at Tony's tower. Currently in one of the bedrooms. With Bucky. And as soon as Steve moves, he hears Bucky put his book down.

"You fucking tasered me," is the first real sentence out of Steve's mouth in two weeks. He groans and stretches, loosening his tense muscles but sending shocks of pain through his system. "Okay . . . ow," he mumbles, curling back up on his side to face Bucky. The brunet had one hand stretched out like he was going to stop Steve.

"Don't move," he says belatedly. And God, it's good to hear his voice, but Steve never wanted to hear it like this. Worn down, broken, scratchy from crying or screaming or both. He looks miserable, and it's Steve that did that, he has no doubt about it. And Steve never wanted to hurt him, he wanted to save him, to keep him safe.

"Buck—"

"I'm fine," he insists, scrubbing the tears from his face.

"You're not," Steve says, forcing himself to sit up. An involuntary groan escapes his lips as he settles himself against the headboard and Bucky's hands flutter over his chest, not quite sure what to do. Steve looks up at him, takes his hand. Bucky's holding back tears now, his bottom lip quivering.

"Steve," he whispers, just a breath in the still room. Steve reels him in, hugs him tight to his chest. He's warm and he smells like earth and rain and he's crying softly into Steve's neck.

"I'm here Buck," he murmurs, pressing kisses to Bucky's hair. "It's okay. I'm here now. I'm not gonna leave you again. I'm okay, I'm here and I love you." Bucky just nuzzles his face into Steve's neck and kisses, hot tears still streaming down his face.

"I thought you were dead," the burnet whispers. "I saw you fall. I thought you were dead." That breaks Steve's heart.

"I don't—" 

"Shh," Bucky says, looking up at Steve. "You're here now. You came back." Steve takes Bucky's face in his hands.

"Of course I did, Bucky. Of course I did. I wouldn't leave you. Not if I had a choice." And Bucky kisses him then, warm mouth followed by a wet tongue. Steve groans and threads his hand in Bucky's hair, pulling him closer.

"I love you," Bucky whispers against his lips. Steve tenses. Bucky's never said that before, not those words in that order. "I'm sorry I didn't say it before. But I do. I love you." And _God,_ Steve wants this man.

"C'mere," he whispers, tightening his arm around Bucky's waist. "I love you so fucking much." And they're both crying and kissing and hugging and touching and exploring and Steve didn't ever think he would have a home after his Ma died, but he just found it right here. Right here in this man.

"Steve," Bucky whines when Steve sucks a mark onto his skin.

"Yes?" Steve asks, smiling into Bucky's neck.

"You can't just . . . you're hurt and . . . _nngh_ ," he moans, arching his neck so Steve can get at more of it. Steve kisses and sucks down it, nipping gently at Bucky's collar bones. He can feel Bucky's erection against his thigh and he grins. 

"You want something, Buck?" he asks, looking up at the brunet. Bucky looks wrecked already and Steve hasn't even gotten him out of his clothes.

"Well, we finally got those doors," Bucky laughs out. And it's so easy from there, getting out of their clothes. They kiss and bite and suck and tussle and touch until they settle with Bucky naked between Steve's legs. They kiss for a very long time, Steve sneaking a hand down to stroke at Bucky's cock. The brunet moans, crushing their lips together harder. "You sure, doll?" Bucky asks when Steve pulls him closer, rubbing Bucky's cock down the crease of his ass. 

"I'm sure," Steve whispers, digging through the drawer to toss a bottle of lube at Bucky. "You're what I want." Bucky just grins, a blush creeping up his neck. He situated himself, slicks his finger, and teases it around Steve's hole. Steve is so hypersensitive that even that little touch is getting him to the point where he feels like he's gonna come. He makes a little pained noise in the back of his throat and Bucky stops.

"Steve?" he asks, a hint of worry in his voice.

"Fuck, don't _stop_ ," Steve complains, lifting his hips as an offering. Bucky grins wide and slides a finger inside. And God, it's been so long since Steve did this. He forgot the burn. But Bucky goes slow, fingerling him at a steady, gentle pace. He smooths a hand down Steve's thigh when he pushes a second finger in, leaning down to kiss him. Steve arches up eagerly into the kiss, wanting Bucky to move faster but wanting this moment to last forever.

When Bucky has three fingers sliding in an out comfortably, he looks up at Steve. The brunet is flushed down to his chest, his cock jutting out enticingly between his thighs. Steve takes him in, enjoying just being able to look at him. 

"Condom?" Bucky asks, snapping Steve out of his daze.

"If you want to," Steve tells him, voice sleepy sounding though he's far from tired. "I'm clean, got tested after my last relationship. Haven't been with anyone since— _ah_!" Bucky'd pressed down on his prostate, metal hand clamped down on Steve's thigh. "You like that?" Steve teases, smiling stupidly up at the brunet. "You like that I haven't been with anyone in years?" Bucky flushes harder, pulling his bottom lip between perfectly straight teeth. "I think you do."

"Shut your fucking mouth," Bucky mutters, leaning over Steve to claim his lips. Steve laughs through the kiss, feeling Bucky's lips curl into a smile. This is just so easy. Steve's never laughed during sex. Never had this much fun before. "I haven't either."

"Buck," Steve whines, squirming under the brunet. He smiles and pushes in slowly, one hand cupping Steve's jaw and the other on his thigh.

"Deep breaths, sweetheart," Bucky soothes, continuing to slide in until he bottoms out. They stay like that, not moving, for several minutes, just breathing each other in. It feels . . . phenomenal. It burns slightly, Steve hasn't done this in years, but it's a good kind of burn. The kind of pain he likes. "Are you okay?" Bucky asks, rubbing his thumb gently over Steve's cheek.

"I'm good," Steve replies, lifting his hips. " _Move_." The brunet grins and starts to move. And God, it's heaven. Steve hasn't felt this way in so long, hasn't felt this close to another person maybe ever, and he doesn't ever want it to end. But the more Bucky moves, the harder he drives into Steve, Steve knows it's not going to last. He can feel the tension building in his stomach, can feel it tipping over.

"Steve," Bucky breathes, thrusts becoming erratic. " _God_."

"Yeah," Steve says back, gripping the back of Bucky's neck to slam their mouths together. His orgasm hits him hard, and his back arches off the bed. A loud moan escapes his lips, coming untouched between their bodies. Bucky's hips stutter as Steve comes, and then both of his hands clamp down on Steve's hips with bruising force. He fucks into Steve faster, chasing his own pleasure and extending Steve's. Three more thrusts and Bucky is coming, hands bruising Steve's hips and teeth biting into Steve's neck.

"Bucky!" Steve cries, holding onto the brunet as he shakes, at the pain in his neck radiates through his body. It's a good pain, the best kind of pain. And it'll leave a mark similar to those Steve left on Bucky's neck. The thought makes Steve smile.

Ten minutes later and Bucky is cuddled up next to Steve, not asleep but almost. They need to clean up, but neither of them wants to move.

"This is going to get uncomfortable in a few minutes," Steve whispers to Bucky.

"Ugh," Bucky groans, sitting up. "It already is." And then he gets up and wanders to the bathroom. Steve hears the shower turn on, and then Bucky pops his head around the corner. "You coming?" Steve grins. How could he say no to that? But when he tries to get up, his entire body protests. He would've fallen over if the wall hadn't been there. "Whoa," Bucky says, rushing over to him.

"I'm fine," Steve says, gritting his teeth against the dizziness and pain. His ankle throbs and he hadn't noticed how much pain he was in until he'd tried to stand up.

"Don't lie to me," Bucky says quietly, wrapping one arm around Steve's waist and placing his metal hand on Steve's chest to brace him. "Can you make it to the shower?" Bucky asks, and Steve shakes his head. He really doesn't think he can. "Okay, get back in bed. I'm gonna run a bath." Steve sits down and Bucky kisses his temple before going back into the bathroom and switching on the faucet for the tub.

It's a nice bath. They don't say much, just enjoying the hot water and each other. They kiss occasionally as they wash each other, and by the time they're done, the water in tinted pink from where some of Steve's wounds had started bleeding again. Bucky dries them off and they get back into bed, as close to each other as possible. Bucky's hand ghosts over the burn on Steve's side.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry I hurt you." The tips of his fingers brush over the burn, then up to the one between Steve's shoulders. "I didn't . . . I should've known it was you." And Steve can't stand to hear the pain in Bucky's voice so he lifts the brunet's face to look at him.

"You thought I was dead, Buck," Steve says gently. "How could you have known?" The brunet just blinks at him, guilt still written a over his face. "It's okay. I'm here now," Steve soothes, cuddling back up to his lover, touching as much as possible.

"I love you," Bucky whispers into Steve's hair. Steve nuzzles further into Bucky's chest. It's nice to hear those words.

"I love you, too, Buck," he whispers back, eyes heavy with sleep. And he's safe now, here with Bucky, so maybe he can get that twenty-four hours of sleep. 

A man can dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been feeling terrible all week, so if you feel like leaving a nice comment, I'd greatly appreciate it.


	9. To Discover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Steve, I don't know if you know this, but you were adopted."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of you may have noticed that I added two chapters to this. That's because I don't really think I can wrap this up in only one more chapter. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is a little bit longer, so enjoy.
> 
> And one more thing: I'm not a doctor or a scientist. I'm using some creative licence here. So don't freak out in the comments, please.

Steve and Bucky stay in bed the entirety of the next day, which is apparently unsurprising to their friends. Partly because, well, Steve had been dead, and a part of Bucky had died with him—they could all see that. But it was also partly because Steve's fall off the bridge had damaged his body more than he knew. He knows it was bad, but Tony had done x-rays while Steve was out and found that in addition to the two broken fingers and sprained ankle, Steve has two cracked ribs and his spine is bruised.

Bruce had found some corticosteroids to give Steve, which are sitting on the nightstand. He'd also told Steve to stay in bed, or at least sitting down, as much as possible. He'd also not so subtly slid a note under their door to warn them about rough sexual activity. Under that, there had been a note from Natasha. 

_Steve, we're all very glad you're alive, but try to keep the volume down when you fuck him._

That one had sent Bucky cackling and Steve blushing so hard Bucky laughed even harder.

"She's just pushing your buttons, Stevie," Bucky'd said, trying to soothe Steve. "We weren't even that loud. I can be much worse." Bucky'd grinned like a Cheshire Cat then, and Steve had smacked his chest and pulled him into a soft kiss. 

It was nice to have a solid twenty-four hours alone with Bucky. They just watched movies and Bucky cooked while Steve lounged on the couch reading a book Bucky'd left there. Something about dragons and Riders and elves and dwarves that he'd never heard of, so well-read that it's falling apart.

Also sex. Bucky'd gotten Steve off twice already by noon, once more after lunch. Steve can't drop to his knees like he wants to, but he has Bucky straddle his chest, that way Bucky can grip the headboard while Steve swallows his cock, getting him off twice like that, once with his hands.

It's good. It's so good. Steve hasn't felt like this in a long time. It's a blessing to have this time to themselves. Something they won't have when they return to reality, to the real world where things are broken and disjointed and fucked up. The chaos of this epidemic.

So they take the day and don't leave their floor. They don't socialise with anyone but each other. They have everything they need here without getting in the elevator to go anywhere.

That night, though, Steve feels the need to see people, to reassure his friends that he's okay. Bucky wasn't the only one that was worried, but he was the one that Steve needed to put back together the most. Now that he's had time with Bucky—mind-blowingly, orgasmically fun time—he can make time for his friends. Without orgasms, of course. 

But that's okay, because the look on his friend's faces when Bucky and Steve walk into the main room hand-in-hand is priceless. Natasha looks smug and Sam makes a puking noise, Pietro and Wanda beam at them, Tony gags and Bruce sends them a knowing look. Jane and Thor smile at them before going back to whatever science thing Jane was explaining to him. Pepper and Sharon don't even look up.

"So you took a break to come say hi," Natasha says dryly, smiling smugly at him. She probably thinks she's responsible for them getting together. And, well, she's right.

"Figured we could take an hour or two," Steve says, smiling back at her.

"I wore him out," Bucky says, waggling his eyebrows as he helps Steve sit down on the love seat and laughing when Steve blushes. It hurts every time Steve puts any kind of pressure on his back, but the steroids and painkillers are helping. Bruce says he'll be okay in a week or so, that it was a very minor bruise. They just wanted to be careful, to keep everyone as healthy as possible.

Running a hand through his hair, Steve throws an arm around Bucky's shoulders when the brunet sits next to him, needing to touch him, to be near him. The brunet doesn't seem to mind, snuggling into Steve's side easily. But Steve doesn't miss how gentle Bucky is, how gentle everyone is as they talk about the live subject they brought in. Steve is happy that they got one, especially that they got one that isn't him.

But as Tony is Tony, and is always crass, he says something stupid and offensive without meaning to.

"Why did you, of all people, get to be immune to this?" he asks, waving his hands in the air. He's not mad at Steve, he's confused, but it comes off in a way that immediately has Steve on the defensive.

"It's not like he chose it," Natasha says before Steve has the chance to open his mouth. "We don't even know how that happened. We don't know why. He didn't ask for it. It's not his fault and, honestly, it's a good thing or he'd be Infected right now." The redhead doesn't look at Steve, but she has a smug smile on her face when she sits back, watching Tony try to come up with something to say.

"Sorry, Steve," he says, and Steve nods at him. It's not like Tony meant it. "I'd like to run tests though. As soon as possible."

"Tomorrow," Bucky says decisively. It seems like everyone is speaking for Steve now.

And to be honest, he doesn't mind at all. Steve would correct them if they were wrong, but they're not. Steve really is tired and he needs to rest tonight before Tony starts sticking needles in him. Before he gets the ugly memories of his childhood thrown back in his face. Before he has to relive the poking and prodding of tests and exams he'd endured for the first decade and a half of his life. 

Clint interrupts Steve's train of thought by knocking over his drink.

"Awh, drink," he complains, looking down at it with an over-the-top sad expression. Natasha sighs and picks up the cup, sending an exasperated glance toward her best friend, and gets up to get some paper towels. While she's gone, Sam looks over at Steve.

"You up for a movie, man?" he asks, concern in his eyes. Sam can read Steve like a book, so he can most definitely see how much pain Steve is in. But Steve really would like to spend time with the others, so he nods, and Sam goes to pick a movie.

They bicker for a while over what to watch, and Steve just sits back quietly and runs his hand through Bucky's hair. He has to take it out of the messy bun, wrapping the band around his wrist. Bucky hums happily and presses his head back into Steve's hand.

"You're like a cat," Steve murmurs to him. Bucky just smiles happily and closes his eyes. Running his nails over Bucky's scalp, Steve continues to play with Bucky's hair, untangling it. And Bucky really is like a cat. A little kitten that likes to be petted and held and warm and will headbutt you when you stop giving it attention. Because Steve takes his hand off of Bucky for literally five seconds and the brunet whines, leaning in so that his head pushes against Steve's hand again. Steve just laughs, giving his boyfriend what he wants and resumes petting him as the movie starts.

They'd decided on some science fiction movie, something Steve's never seen. But Bucky knows every line—It's obviously a movie he likes. The brunet is whispering the lines under his breath and leaning over to explain parts to Steve when he gets lost. It's cute that Bucky is so passionate about science.

Steve's never had that passion, that fire. Not for anything normal. He's always had a hero complex—standing up to bullies and sticking his neck out for kids being picked on. He'd gotten beat up quite a bit as a kid. But then he'd gotten bigger, gotten stronger. And suddenly, no one wanted to mess with him anymore. And when he joined the Marines, he'd learned how to put all that strength to work for the good of his country.

Bucky, though . . . Bucky has so much passion inside him. Passion for science, for books and movies and helping people. He's good. He's a good person, someone Steve can be proud to be with instead of someone like Brock who he was scared to tell his friends about. Steve can show Bucky off, be proud of him, have excited to tell everyone that Bucky is his and he is Bucky's. 

"Hey," Bucky says gently, coaxing Steve out of his head and back to reality. The brunet looks concerned. "You okay, baby?" And Steve doesn't know how to answer that truthfully. On the one hand, he feels shitty. His entire body hurts and his stomach feels hollow. But on the other hand, he's so fucking happy right now. To be here, to be alive, to be with Bucky. It feels like a miracle that he's here, and maybe it is. 

"I think so," he settles on, kissing Bucky's forehead. He doesn't want to worry him. "Just a lot going on in my head right now, is all." Bucky frowns at him in sympathy and curls up tighter to Steve's uninsured side.

The movie continues and Steve is warm and happy, Bucky having pulled a blanket over them. The brunet's metal hand is curled around Steve's back--careful of his broken ribs—his other hand high on Steve's thigh. His thumb rubs soothing circles over Steve's leg, lending comfort in silence. Natasha glances over at them every now and then, a secret happy smile on her face. Natasha doesn't like to show her emotions often, but Steve can see it. Can see that she's happy for Steve, happy to have him, that he's alive and well and happy with the man he loves beside him.

It's times like these that make the situation bearable. Times where he knows all of his friends are happy and relatively safe, that he's content. There's no rush right now—no stress. Just a movie and his friends like it would normally be on a weekend. Just with a lot less alcohol.

Speaking of alcohol . . .

"Shouldn't we be playing a drinking game?" he asks Bucky, taking the brunet's attention from the movie. "End times, and all that." Bucky looks up at him and Steve holds his breath. The brunet could either take the joke for what it is—a joke—or worry that Steve is having some sort of crisis because Steve doesn't usually drink. It's kind of a rule with him. He doesn't like to drink because he doesn't like feeling out of control. But he's been in control so much lately that he feels a couple shots or a few beers wouldn't hurt.

"Hey, Tony!" Bucky calls over the movie. Tony looks over at him, mildly annoyed at being torn from the screen. "Shots?" Tony grins, and Steve looks over at Natasha who's watching him. He smiles at her and sits up straighter, a challenge in his posture. Steve and Natasha don't drink much, they're too much alike in the way that they need control. But when they do . . .

And so it begins. Slowly, they all get shot glasses and vodka and tequila and then beers and start playing. Drink whenever someone says dream, Cobb, Mal. Drink whenever there's a maze, a totem, Cobb's kids, the dream drug machine. Drink whenever someone falls, someone wakes up, we move up or down a level in a dream.

Steve doesn't really get this movie, so he just drinks when everyone else does. He hadn't been paying attention and there is just so much going on that he can't jump into the plot this far into the movie. But within thirty minutes, everyone is drunk or at least tipsy, and Tony suggests they put on some music. Thor and Jane get up to dance and Natasha drags Steve up to grind their hips hard and slow against each other's. The bass is loud and dirty and Steve can feel Bucky's eyes on him so he raises his glass and puts on a show.

Steve really can't dance to save his life, but this isn't hard. He's been told countless times how hot he and Natasha look together. They get mistaken as a couple all the time. But this is different. They're both putting on a show, but not for each other. Natasha is making eye contact with Sam as she brings her hand up to cup the back of Steve's neck, and then she tips her head back onto Steve's shoulder. Steve glances over at Bucky.

And _God_ , his pupils are blown.

So Steve kisses Natasha's cheek and let's her go just as Bucky grabs his hand and drags him into the elevator. As soon as they're inside, Bucky presses Steve up against the wall to kiss him. His mouth is hot and his tongue is wet and he tasted like vodka and Steve's head is swimming with arousal.

"Was wondering how long it would take you or Sam to break in," Steve mumbles around the brunet's kisses. Bucky just grunts out an affirmative and slots his thigh between Steve's legs. The kisses are rough—all tongue and teeth—but the way Bucky holds Steve is gentle, like he's precious and breakable. And for a while, he will be breakable. Until his ribs heal, at least.

"You just couldn't fuckin' help yourself, could you, Rogers?" Bucky mutters. "Had to be a fuckin' tease." And Steve laughs when the elevator dings, pulling Bucky out onto their floor.

"You _liked_ it," Steve says, grinning. Bucky just scowls. "Don't lie to yourself."

"If you're not naked and in bed in thirty seconds, I might just get myself off and leave you hangin'." Bucky smirks when Steve gasps and scrambles into the bedroom, leaving clothes in a line behind him.

-

The next day comes with needles. Lots of needles. And tests. And Tony trying to distract him from said needles and tests. Bruce takes his blood while Tony rambles about the live subject they'd caught, about analysing behaviour and brain waves. The creature is laid out on a table in a glass cage across the room. Tony says they can't go in there without thick protective clothing even with the thing under sedation.

They don't want to risk it. 

"But you could—"

"Absolutely not," Bucky says, interrupting the dangerous train of thought Tony is on. Steve sits up when Bruce is done, the older man discretely hiding the needle forms Steve's sight. "You're not sending Steve in with that . . . that _thing_."

"But he could—" 

" _No_ ," Bucky says, his anger almost palpable. "Do you see that bite on his arm? It's still not healed. We don't know if him not Turning was a fluke or if it's permanent. You can't put him in danger like that." And _holy shit_ , Bucky is angry. Steve's seen him irritated, frustrated, but never mad. He gets quiet when he's angry. Stony-faced and rigid. 

"Buck," Steve murmurs, putting his hand on the brunet's shoulder.

"Steve, _no_ ," Bucky says, a hint of pleading in his voice. "You could die."

"We'll do tests on his blood," Bruce says, placating. "We'll make sure there would be no danger to him before we go any further with this." Bucky sighs angrily and stands up, Steve standing with him. The brunet takes Steve's hand and looks directly at Tony.

"You're not sending him in there unless there's absolutely no danger to him." And with that, Bucky drags Steve out of the room and into the elevator. He still looks pissed, and he won't look at Steve. So Steve just stands there with Bucky's metal hand clutched in his, Steve's thumb stroking over the cool metal of his knuckles. He knows Bucky can barely feel it, but it calms Steve as much as knowing Steve doesn't care about the arm calms Bucky.

They get back up to their floor and Steve lets Bucky lead him to the couch and sit him down, fretting over Steve's injuries and the new holes in his skin from the needles. Steve just sits back at lets him. It gives Bucky a sense of control, a tangible way to see that Steve needs him. And if Steve can give him that, if Steve can give him that comfort, he will. As long as he's able. 

Bucky flips a movie on and the goes into the kitchen, quietly making lunch. And Steve lets him do that. Lets him do everything Steve needs, because Steve needs Bucky to know that he loves him. Bucky needs Steve to let him do this. Bucky needs Steve to need him. And even though Steve really could do it himself, he lets Bucky make them lunch and then let's Bucky check his injuries and then let's Bucky wrap him up in a blanket and settle them on the couch for a movie that neither of them are going to watch.

About halfway through it and Steve can still feel how tense Bucky is. He's been worrying this whole time, but it's been over an hour and if Bucky's still pissed, that means he needs to talk about it before it gets better. 

"Buck?" Steve asks, not turning around.

"Yeah, baby?" God, even his _voice_ sounds mad.

"We gonna talk about this?"

"There’s nothing to talk about," Bucky says, exhaling loudly through his nose. It's a frustrated sound. Steve isn't buying it, so he presses a little more.

"If I can help in any way, I want to." And at that, Bucky turns Steve around—gently, so gently—so that he can take his chin in his hand.

"You don't go into the fucking cage unless we know for certain that thing can't hurt you." Bucky's eyes are fierce, his face right up in Steve's. "I almost lost you once. It would kill me if I lost you again." Now Steve knows what this is about. “You’re so oblivious,” Bucky says, no malice in is voice. “You don’t know how much I need you. How much you being here and knowing you love me is keeping me sane. If it were anyone else, I’d’ve left already, gone my own way. But I stay for you. Because you're here and I love you and if we get through all of this, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Was that a proposal, Buck?” Steve teases, trying to get a smile out of his boyfriend. It kind of works, there’s a ghost of a smile, and Steve will take it. He’ll take what he can get right now.

“You wish, Rogers,” Bucky teases back, kissing Steve’s forehead.

“But for real,” Steve says, looking at the brunet with concern. “What can I do to help?” and Bucky sighs, tucking Steve tighter into his arms.

“You can get better.” Steve sighs at the non-answer, but it’s the best he’s going to get right now. So he’s quiet, allowing Bucky the time with his thoughts, the time to himself to work out his emotional things. Steve doesn’t want to smother in his attempt to be supportive. He wants Bucky to know that he can talk to Steve, but he also doesn’t want to force it.

So he leaves it be for now, hoping that Bucky trusts him enough to tell him when he’s ready.

 - 

A few days later, and two things happen. The first is that Bruce clears Steve's health. His spine is in better condition, his ribs healing well, and his ankle is still in a brace, but Steve can get back to doing normal things. It's a relief for Steve, who's always hated feeling helpless, to be able to lift things and reach for things again.

The second is that there's a breakthrough on the cure.

Tony had rushed into his and Bucky's bedroom at two in the morning, not even bothering to knock.

"Steve, you've gotta—"

"Tony!" Steve yells, grabbing the sheet and covering his and Bucky's naked bodies. 

"I don't give a shit that you're naked, Rogers," Tony says impatiently.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" Bucky asks, completely unashamed of his lack of clothes and the fact that Tony is staring right at them.

"We've had a breakthrough on the cure," Tony replies breathlessly. Bucky sits up straight, on alert. Steve just gapes at the other man. A breakthrough? What kind of breakthrough?

"What?" Steve asks, stupidly.

"We need you downstairs," Tony tells him. Me? Steve thinks. Why do they need me?

"Why do you need Steve?" Bucky asks slowly. He knows something's up. Tony shifts from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable.

"Because . . . just get dressed and come down to the lab, okay? We'll explain there." And then he turns and leaves, closing the door with a bang.

"Well it can't be anything good," Steve says, trying to break the tension. Bucky isn't impressed, his mouth in an angry line.

"If they even _try_ to get you to go in that fucking cage I swear to God, Steve," Bucky mutters, throwing the sheet off and getting out of bed. Steve loses himself for a moment, staring at the naked perfection of Bucky's ass, before Bucky tosses a pair of jeans at his face. "Take a picture," he says. "It'll last longer." Steve just grins, knowing that if Bucky's making jokes, he can't be that upset.

So they get dressed, Steve trying his best to distract Bucky with kisses and tickles. Steve himself doesn't think that it can be that bad, but Bucky's always been a pessimist, and Steve feels he needs to keep his own spirits up and hope that rubs off on his boyfriend. Bucky's been . . . distant, quiet, these past few days. It unnerves Steve to see him so bogged down in his worries.

So Steve hums a little as they go down the elevator, poking the brunet every now and then, trying to coax a smile out of him. It works eventually, Bucky cracking a small smile right before the doors open. Steve just kisses his temple, taking Bucky's left hand in his. Bucky startles, the way he always does when Steve touches the metal arm. It's never bothered Steve, but it's always bothered Bucky.

"I love you," Steve whispers quietly as they walk into the lab. Every head in the room turns to look at them. But they're not looking at Bucky, no, they're looking at Steve. Feeling uneasy, Steve presses himself closer to Bucky's side, and the brunet wraps the metal arm around Steve's waist, pulling him closer. 

Something's going on. 

Something's wrong.

"Guys?" Steve asks slowly, on guard. Everyone's looking at him like when he'd told them his Ma died. Steve scans the room almost frantically, making sure none of his friends are missing. He counts them off in his head, coming up short when he doesn't see Sam right away, and then breathing a sigh of relief when Sam shifts into his view.

"What don't we know?" Bucky asks, growing impatient. Steve bites at his lip, watching Natasha's face. She's looking around at everyone else, waiting for someone to say something, but no one does.

"Steve, we found out why you're immune," she says. Bucky's grip tightens around Steve's waist. "But you're not going to like it." Steve waits for her to explain, to say something else, but she doesn't. So Bruce does. 

"Steve, I don't know if you know this, but you were adopted." There's a moment of silence, and then Steve laughs. Everyone just stares at him.

"Yeah. I know. My Ma told me that when I was like six." And Steve understands why everyone's surprised. No one knew that. But as far as Steve was ever concerned, his Ma was his Ma, and she gave him a good home and a wonderful childhood even though he was always sick. She did everything with him. She was his best friend. It never mattered to Steve that she didn't give birth to him. She was more of a mother than whoever his biological mother was.

"Uh . . . okay," Tony says. "But did you know that your father is Alexander Pierce?" At that, Steve comes up short. Alexander Pierce? The man that made this virus? The man that started this? That's his father? Steve's never really cared who his real parents were, but this . . . this is too much. "He made the virus with his own DNA. That's why you're immune. I'm guessing he is, too." Steve's head is swimming. This is too much.

"Hey," Bucky says softly. "Let's sit down." Pietro and Wanda get up so that the two of them can sit, and Steve leans over, eyes trained on the floor. Bucky's metal hand is rubbing over his back, and he can hear Bucky yelling at Tony. Something about _it's too much, why did you just come out and tell him like that, he's gone through so much already_ and Steve's hands are shaking. His father did this. The only reason he didn't die is because his father created a virus out of his own DNA that killed hundreds of thousands of people. He's the son of a murderer, of a madman. 

His father . . . his _father_. Steve had never had any expectations, never really thought about it. He's always been content in his family—his Ma, and his father who'd died a war hero. He'd never cared to know about his biological parents. But here it is. His father made this thing. This thing that's killing people and resurrecting them as something horrible. And the only reason Steve had survived? His fucking psychotic father had made the thing _with his own DNA_.

Like, who thinks making a zombie virus is a fucking good idea? 

Steve can hear the others talking, but he's not paying attention. He's trying to keep his breathing steady and stop his hands from shaking—and failing. But then something hits him. 

"How do you know?" he asks, looking straight at Tony. Maybe it's not true. Maybe Tony just guessed. They can know for sure, right? They have no way to know. Hope wells in Steve's chest, making it hard to breathe.

The brunet looks at him for a moment before wordlessly bringing him a tablet. It's got Steve's DNA on the right side and Pierce's on the left. They look the same. Even Steve, who never went to college and knows almost nothing about the inner workings of genetics can see that they look similar.

"Oh," he murmurs, the last bit of his hope draining away. He lets Tony take the tablet away before he drops it. His hands are still shaking and he feels like he's going to throw up. "Where do I come in?" Tony glances over at Bruce and then back to Steve.

"If we can give some of your blood to a team, they can move undetected by the Infected and pick them off." Steve's eyes widen and Tony hurries to explain. "We won't need much. Just enough to fill maybe . . . twenty syringes? To give to a team that would at least take care of New York, and then we can deal with everywhere else after that."

"Why New York first?" Bucky asks, hand still rubbing circles over Steve's back. 

"The biggest population of the Infected is here," Bruce replies. "The virus started here. Then traveled outward through people leaving on panes and trains as busses." Steve sees Bucky nod, and the older man pulls him closer. Steve realises they're waiting on an answer.

"Go ahead," he says, holding out his arm. If it can help people, if he can help reverse what Pierce did, he'll do it.

"Everyone out," Tony says, taking Steve's arm and leading him over to a chair on the far side of the lab. Bucky trails close behind him and everyone else files past them going the other way. He gets a lot of sympathetic looks and he hates it. He hates being weak, having his personal life on display for everyone to see. He hates that they see him like this now—broken down and beaten.

But as Tony sticks the needle in his arm, Steve focuses on one thing:

This is how they'll beat this.

This plague won't beat them. It won't keep them down.

This is the beginning of the end.


	10. To Overcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can stop this. It's . . . it's my responsibility. My . . . he did this. And I have to fix it."

_Steve is trapped on the bridge. He can't go anywhere. All around him are Infected, mouths gaping and flesh hanging from their bodies, blood oozing from old wounds. The smell of death surrounds him. He can't go backwards or he'll fall. He can't go to the sides, the Infected have surrounded him._

_And then there's Bucky._

_Standing maybe twenty feet away on a chunk of concrete from the railing of the bridge. Clothes torn, eyes completely gone with hatred and rage._

_He's Infected._

_He's Infected and it's Steve's fault._

_Steve wants to get to him, wants to take Bucky into his arms and force him to remember who Steve is._

_"Bucky!" Steve calls. "Help me," he pleads, heart aching for the man who once loved him._

_"Who the hell is Bucky?" the brunet asks, voice dead. He waves his hand._

_And then the Infected charge._  

-

Steve wakes to wet eyelashes and a trembling body. It wasn't real, he tells himself. Just a dream. But he has to be sure, so he rolls over. And there's Bucky, sleeping peacefully with his hair spread out over the pillow. Definitely not Infected, not hurt in any way.

And Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He knows he has to do whatever he can to stop this virus before any of his friends get sick. Before they make a mistake and one of them gets bitten. He has to do something. He has to fix this, fix what his father fucked up.

His father. Except he's not, is he? He's . . . he means absolutely nothing to Steve. In fact, Steve honestly fucking hates the guy. Sincerely loathes him. Because who could possibly do this? Who would make a virus they know will kill thousands and hundreds of thousands of people and then "accidentally" release it on New York and then, consequently, the whole world?

Alexander fucking Pierce, that's who.

Steve is also beginning to think that this has something to do with the government. Maybe it wasn't Pierce's idea to begin with. The guy is a psychopath, but maybe he's also being used. The government is being rather uncooperative with the military, who want to mobilise. They want to help, but the government isn't letting that happen. Maybe this had something to do with population control? Maybe the government is being so unhelpful because this was their idea.

But they didn't expect this many people to die.

Or maybe Steve is just getting caught up in the conspiracy theories going around the Internet. 

Either way, tomorrow Pietro, Wanda, Clint, Sam, Bucky, and the rest of Bucky's unit from the Army are getting some of Steve's blood and going into the depths of New York to start damage control. Pietro and Wanda had insisted on coming, both of them having had military training back home, and Steve had agreed against his better judgment. They, along with Steve who sure as hell wasn't going to stay behind, are going to start killing off all of the Infected they can. 

It'll be gruesome work, heartbreaking, really, but it's necessary. They know it is. This is something they have to do to keep people safe. To keep Natasha and her baby safe, and Tony and Pepper and Sharon and the rest of them. They have to do something, and this is the best way to help. 

Get New York quarantined as a safe city and then worry about moving other people into the city, ridding other cities of the Infected. Distribute Steve's blood to the National Guard and get ready for a war. Because that's what this is.

A war.

They're fighting for the human race and it's such a large scale that Steve isn't sure if they can win. Maybe other countries had better quarantine zones, maybe it's just the U.S. that's overrun. Who knows? Maybe they just need to move everyone out of North America, but how the fuck is that going to happen?

Tony's been taking blood from him slowly for two days, allowing Steve time to recuperate before they leave tomorrow. But what if it doesn't work? What if it's not enough to keep them safe? What if one of them gets bitten and the little bit of Steve's blood isn't enough to keep them from turning. 

Steve's thoughts are brought to a halt when Bucky pushes his way into Steve's arms. The brunet nuzzles into Steve's neck and goes back to breathing quietly. A few moments later, he takes a deep breath in and blinks his eyes open at Steve. 

"Whatcha doin' up, Stevie? he asks sleepily, voice heavy. His arms come up over his head as he stretches, and then he tucks his flesh hand back under his body and swings his metal one around Steve's waist, snuggling closer. Steve smiles softly at that, pressing a kiss into Bucky's hair.

"Nothing, sweetheart," he whispers into Bucky's ear, pressing his face into all that hair and breathing in deeply. It smells like peppermint and earth and rain—shampoo and Bucky.

"Tha's a lie," Bucky murmurs, screwing up his face as he tries to wake up more. He knows something's wrong. "What's up?" Bucky asks, looking up at Steve. And can he tell the brunet that a dream about him essentially killing Steve woke him up? Absolutely not. Bucky already carries the guilt of Steve's plunge on the bridge, no way Steve is giving him another thing to feel guilty about. Absolutely not.

So he lies.

"Really. Just woke up." The brunet raises an eyebrow skeptically, sensing Steve's bullshit.

"If I woke up in the middle of the night looking like I'd been crying for hours and told you it was nothing, would you believe me?" Bucky asks. And that makes Steve come up short. He definitely wouldn't drop it if the situation of it was reversed. He sighs, and pulls Bucky closer so he can't see Steve's face.

"I was on the bridge and surrounded. And you were there. You were . . . Infected." Steve's voice breaks on the last word, Infected, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself. "You were . . . controlling them. You didn't know me. I called out for you, but you looked straight at me and said, _who the hell is Bucky_? And then all the Infected ran at me. You didn't know me, Buck. You just . . . _hated_ me. You looked like . . . dead, angry, I don't know." Bucky tries to look up at him, but Steve can't meet his eyes. He just stares at the wall over Bucky's shoulder. "I can't let that happen. I don't like what we have to do tomorrow, but we don't have a choice. I can't let that happen to you. Or any of us. I can stop this. It's . . . it's my responsibility. My . . . _he_ did this. And I have to fix it." Bucky finally makes Steve looks at him, metal hand pushing Steve's head down so their foreheads touch.

"Stevie-doll, none of this was your fault. Just because the man who technically fathered you fucked up doesn't make you responsible for this." Bucky reaches up to kiss Steve's forehead and then settles down on Steve's chest. And Steve tells Bucky about his theory, about how he thinks the government did this, about everything he'd been thinking since he woke up.

Bucky is quiet for a long time, mulling it over.

"I think that's possible, honestly," he says finally. And Steve's glad he's not the only one that thinks the government would do this. Just . . . Infect people. "I don't think they expected this, though."

"That's what I was thinking. They thought they could control it, but they haven't been able to find a cure for it. Until now." The brunet hums in agreement. He's tired. Steve immediately feels terrible for waking him up. "You should go back to sleep," Steve murmurs, kissing Bucky's forehead. Blue-grey eyes look up at him.

"What are you gonna do?" Bucky asks. Steve sighs.

"Might take a shower. Might take a walk. Go outside." At that, Bucky's eyes darken. "I can't get Infected, remember?" Steve soothes, petting Bucky's hair. "I'll be careful."

"I'm going with you," Bucky says, getting up and grabbing a pair of sweatpants to go over his briefs.

"You really gonna cover up like that, sweetheart?" Steve jokes, earning a low chuckle from the brunet. Mission accomplished. But then Bucky wants to go with him. And Steve still feels terrible for waking him up. Bucky almost never gets a full night of rest, and the one night it was happening, Steve woke him up.

"Don't look like that," Bucky says, coming over to Steve. "We're gonna get the hammock and a shit tonne of blankets and go on the balcony and watch the sunrise."

"Sounds good to me," Steve replies, flashing a grin and grabbing his own pants. It does sound enticing—watching the sunrise with the man he loves. But it's also cold. And Bucky gets cold easily. So Steve grabs at least five blankets while Bucky grabs the hammock and then they head to the balcony.

It's dark and cold but still beautiful. Bucky sets up the hammock and then they crawl in, tucking blankets around themselves and snuggling in until they're chest to chest and sharing body heat.

It feels good. It's warm and Steve is comfortable and just generally glad that Bucky came with him. They're laying in silence, but that doesn't bother Steve in the least. He's content. Bucky's quiet breathing and the soothing scent of earth and rain and impending snow eventually lull him back to sleep. 

-

He wakes up tucked into bed—burrito'ed, really—and fuck, did Bucky carry him inside? Steve knows the metal arm is strong but damn. Steve really hopes Bucky didn't get too cold out there. Steve automatically feels bad. First he woke Bucky up and then he dragged Bucky outside with him when he knows Bucky gets cold easily. 

And where is he?

Steve gets up, untangling himself from all the blankets and grabbing the fuzziest one to wrap around his shoulders. After searching the whole floor and coming up with no Bucky, Steve finally sees the note left on the island in the kitchen.

_I'm downstairs._

_-B_

So Steve wanders into the elevator and down to the main floor below all the housing floors. He hears Bucky before he sees him. Piano music, flowing softly out of an adjoining room, door slightly cracked. He walks over there, careful to keep his steps light because he doesn't want Bucky to stop playing. It's beautiful.

And he's beautiful when he plays.

His eyes are closed, body swaying a bit with it, a little crease between his eyebrows like he's trying to focus. The melody is light and reminds Steve of spring and warmth and blooming flowers. He doesn't know what the piece is called, but it's gorgeous. It's the best thing he's heard in a long time. 

But then the door creaks, and Bucky looks up, the music dropping off.

"What are you doing up?" Bucky asks quietly. "You should be resting." Steve pads over to him and leans against the piano.

"I could say the same to you," he murmurs, running his fingers over Bucky's flesh arm.

"Couldn't go back to sleep," the brunet says, shrugging like it doesn't matter. "My brain won't shut off." And Steve completely understands that. It usually takes him a while to fall asleep.

They stand there in silence for a few minutes, Steve leaning against the piano and Bucky with his hands floating just above the keys. When Steve asks Bucky to come back to bed, Bucky says okay and they go back upstairs to their bedroom.

Bucky kisses Steve like Steve is air and he needs it to breathe. Not like Steve minds, honestly—who would say no to having a gorgeous man kiss them?—but he has a feeling that this is Bucky's way of dealing with things. Steve would prefer talking about it, but all of his thoughts fly out the window when Bucky cups his dick from over his pants. 

The brunet's hand is warm and his thumb is running across Steve's shaft slowly, hardly pressing down, but it's enough to work up Steve's breathing, to get him tearing at Bucky's clothes until they're both naked and situated on the bed, two of Bucky's fingers deep inside of Steve. _God_ , it feels so good with Bucky's metal hand pressing down on Steve's hip.

Steve hopes he leaves bruises.

"Want you in me," Steve chokes out, pulling at Bucky's shoulders. Bucky just looks at him for a beat, and when Steve nods, Bucky lines himself up and presses in. It burns, and it's the best kind of pain. Brilliant pain that lights Steve up like a Christmas tree inside.

But Bucky worries just like Steve does. He's worrying right now—that he's hurting Steve, that he should've prepped Steve more.

"Feels good," Steve murmurs, hooking a leg around Bucky's waist and pulling, pushing Bucky further inside. His body is used to this, used to the stretch and burn of being filled up by Bucky. It's good. It's so good and Steve wants more. Needs more. So he says so.

And fucking hell, Bucky gives it to him.

Because they both need this. To be connected, to be in each other's space, to feel alive.

Bucky starts jacking Steve off in rhythm with his thrusts, metal clutched lightly around Steve's cock. And Steve would be lying if he said that wasn't the hottest thing ever. He may possibly have a thing for Bucky's metal arm. But all of his thoughts are jumbled up and all he can get out are choked off moans and gasps, gripping onto Bucky's hips, his sides, his shoulders. He's so close, but he can't seem to tip over.

Bucky notices. Bucky always notices.

"Come for me, Stevie," he pants out, tightening his grip on Steve's dick and picking up the pace. "C'mon baby, come for me." And there it is. He comes hard, head pressing back into the mattress and a strangled Bucky on his lips.

Bucky comes soon after, and Steve watches his face. He's beautiful--angelic, even. Mouth open, murmurs of fuck and shit and Stevie. The brunet pulls out gently, but that's always the worst part. Steve always feels empty. But then Bucky sprawls on top of him, not minding the come that's getting on his stomach and chest. 

"Jesus," Bucky mutters after a few moments of catching his breath.

"I know," Steve says. And then Bucky laughs, and Steve joins in before kissing him and dragging him into the shower.

There's a lot more touching than washing and by the times they're clean, Steve wants to get dirty again. So he drops to his knees in front of Bucky, his back to the spray of water, and swallows him down, licking and sucking and throwing himself into it with so much force that it knocks Bucky back into the wall. The brunet groans, hand coming to tangle in Steve's wet hair, and Steve loves it. Loves the sounds Bucky makes, the way he cups Steve's head but doesn't push down, the way his hips buck up into Steve's mouth. 

When Bucky's about to come, his hand tightens in Steve's hair and his hips push up so much that his dick slides into Steve's throat.

"Steve," Bucky warns. "Gonna come." But Steve just sucks Bucky up to the tip and then takes him all the way back down his throat, groaning lowly the whole time. Bucky's letting out little uh, uh, uh sounds as his cock pumps come into Steve's mouth. And Steve swallows it all down before kissing back up Bucky's body until he's mouthing at his jaw. The brunet jerks Steve's face up to slot their mouths together, moaning at the taste of himself in Steve's mouth.

"Buck," Steve gasps, pressing his erection into Bucky's thigh.

"I got you, doll," Bucky murmurs, taking Steve's dick in his hand and pumping quickly. His other hand teases at Steve's fucked-out hole, and Bucky stops stroking to let Steve rutt against his thigh. Steve moans loudly, two of Bucky's fingers rubbing over his prostate. 

" _Shit_ ," Steve moans, biting down on Bucky's neck. Bucky tenses so his leg muscles are taught under Steve, and Steve thrusts shallowly a few more times before coming, letting out a loud moan of what sounds like fuck.

The water washes away all evidence as Steve and Bucky shake, arms around each other. They eventually get out, toweling dry and stumbling back into the bedroom. It's still early, they can get at least a few hours of sleep before tomorrow. Before they go out into the city. Before they put their lives on the line.

So they curl around each other with Bucky murmuring soft words of love into Steve's ear. Steve soon falls asleep, the sound of Bucky's voice saying _I love you_.


	11. To Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Run. Don't get bitten again. Run. Watch out for Bucky. Run. Keep Sam in sight. Run. Run. Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . yes, it's fifteen chapters now.
> 
> *throws it at you*
> 
> *runs*

Steve wakes up the next morning to a banging on the door.

"Up and at 'em, boys," Sam says through the door. There's a groan from beside Steve and he opens his eyes to see Bucky stretching. His hair is ruffled and his eyes are bright, body draped in the morning light from the windows. The brunet looks over at him and rolls his eyes as Sam knocks on the door again. "Y'all better not be naked, cause I'm coming in in ten seconds unless I hear movement." Bucky gets up and pulls on a fresh pair of briefs and Steve follows suit.

"We're comin'," Bucky says. "Jesus." There's laughter from the other side of the door and Steve and Bucky continue to get dressed, a tense silence falling over them.

This is it.

This is the day that will change everything. The beginning of a revolution.

"We'll be okay," Bucky tells him, sensing Steve's panic.  For some reason, those words out of Bucky's mouth calm him down. They shouldn't, not really, because Bucky can't know that. But for whatever reason, they do. And Steve is glad for it, so he doesn't voice his doubts.

"Okay," Steve murmurs, pulling on his brown leather jacket.

"I can hear you thinking, Stevie," Bucky says, turning to look at him as he shrugs on his own jacket. "Talk to me." 

"I just . . . what if some of us don't come back?" Steve says, looking down at his feet. "Just because you have my blood doesn't necessarily make you as immune as me. It's still possible for you guys to get Infected if you get bitten enough. And getting Infected isn't the only way to die out there." His words are coming out in a rush, panic washing over him. "What happens if Sam gets hurt? Nat is pregnant, Buck. Nat would lose a husband and a father for her child. She'd have to raise the baby alone. Or what about Pietro? Or Wanda? They're fighters, but they're not soldiers. We can lose them, Buck. This is too dangerous. Maybe I should just go—"

" _Steve_ ," Bucky interrupts, crowding into Steve's space and taking his face in his hands. One metal, one flesh, gently cupping Steve's cheeks. Bucky's eyes are fire, whether from anger or fierce determination or both, Steve doesn't know. But it sends a shiver down Steve's spine. "You are not going alone. We're coming because we want to help. We're going out there to do some good, to give the human race a fighting chance. And you're right, we don't know if this is going to work. But we all know the risks. Sam knows. And Pietro and Wanda know." Bucky bumps their foreheads together and Steve closes his eyes, letting his lungs expand with air, deepening his breathing. "We know what we're getting into, Stevie. And it's worth it. I wouldn't ask my team to go if I didn't think it was worth it."

"Buck," Steve tries. Falters. Tries again. "I can't lose you." And Bucky looks up at him, heart in his eyes and kisses Steve in a lingering kind of way. The way that makes Steve's lips tingle even after Bucky's pulled away.

"You ain't gonna lose me, sweetheart," Bucky murmurs, touching his forehead to Steve's shoulder. Steve pulls him closer and bows his head to rest in the crook of Bucky's neck. 

"I don't ever wanna be somewhere you're not," Steve says quietly. And he doesn't. If Bucky goes, Steve goes.

"Me either, Stevie," Bucky murmurs, breath ghosting over Steve's neck. "Me either."

They finish getting ready in silence, packing their backpacks only with essentials—water, guns, bullets, more guns. Steve tucks a picture of his Ma into the breast pocket of his jacket. Bucky grabs a leather bracelet and ties it to his flesh wrist. Before they leave their bedroom, Bucky presents Steve with his dog tags.

"Buck . . ." Steve whispers, staring at the beat up metal.

"I want you to have these," Bucky says, face devoid of his usual smirk. "I want you to wear them. So even if we get separated, you'll always have a piece of me." And when Bucky places the chain around Steve's neck, Steve thinks he might cry. So Steve fumbles through his backpack until he unearths his own dog tags, offering them to Bucky.

Silently, the brunet allows Steve to put the chain around his neck and tuck them into his shirt. Because they may very well get separated, and Steve wants Bucky to have a physical reminder that Steve loves him. Something of Steve's that means so much. Something of Steve's that he'd never even thought about giving to anyone else—not even his Ma.

When they walk out of their room, Sam is waiting on the couch, flipping through a book they'd had on the coffee table. Steve is holding Bucky's hand, thumb rubbing over metal knuckles, and they silently walk into the elevator together, the three of them completely silent.

-

"Barnes!" a man hollers when they step out of the elevator. He's a big guy with a very substantial moustache. 

"Dum-Dum!" Bucky hollers back, letting go of Steve's hand to clasp the man on the shoulder. "Guys, meet Steve," he says to the men standing around him. "Steve, meet Dum-Dum Dugan, James Falsworth, Gabe Jones, Jaques Dernier, and Jim Mortia." He points at each person as he introduces them, and they all beam at Steve. It's overwhelming him a bit, honestly.

"Good to finally meet you," the man named Dum-Dum says, holding out his hand. Steve shakes it. "Barnes never shuts up about you." Steve grins and turns to see Bucky grinning as well.

"Good to meet you, too," Steve says to them.

"Now that introductions are out of the way," Sam says. "Let's get this party on the road." And Steve turns to look at him, one arm flung over Natasha's shoulders, the redhead completely glued to his side. Steve can see the faint outline of a baby bump, and he smiles softly at her.

Steve says his goodbyes, his promises to come back and to be safe and the _you better not die Rogers, or I will kill you_ from Natasha. He gets a hug out of her, and, surprisingly out of Tony. Jane and Thor are in the back of the group, waving goodbye. Clint hugs Natasha one more time and steps back, gripping tightly at his bow. Tony steps forward and hands Steve what looks like a very high-tech walkie-talkie.

"I've upped the tech on this," he says. "As long as you stay in the state of New York, you'll be able to stay in contact with us. I have the other one programmed into my phone. If you don't radio in every six hours, it'll set off an alarm. I didn't want you guys going out there with no lifeline."

"Thanks, Tony," Steve says, oddly touched. Bucky grabs his hand and pulls him back toward the elevator. They wave as the doors close, and then an eery silence falls over them. The doors open again and they walk out of the tower, shrugging on their backpacks and guns and shivering in the cold weather. Steve switches so that he can hold Bucky's right hand to keep it warm and the brunet smiles softly. 

"Let's get this show on the road, boys," Dum-Dum says, echoing Sam from earlier that morning.

So they go.

-

It's hard for Steve to hate what he's doing when it's with this group of people. When he's hearing all of the inside jokes Bucky's unit has. Like, they call themselves the Howling Commandos for fuck's sake. Sam seems amused with it too, falling into step next to Steve as Bucky and his unit take point, Clint, Pietro, and Wanda in the middle.

"They're a pretty interesting group," Sam says, breaking the silence. The city is completely quiet, like a ghost town. They'd run into a pack of Infected, but they seemed to be new and sluggish and it was easy to pick them off. They haven't run into a big group yet, just groups of five or six or even just individual Infected that the team on point had taken care of before Steve and Sam got there.

"They are," Steve says, not taking his eyes off of his surroundings to look at Sam.

"Is it weird being out here again?" Sam asks suddenly, and Steve realises he hadn't talked to Sam about what happened after the bridge.

"It's a lot less scary," Steve murmurs. "Having you guys here. I don't know if I'd've been able to do it by myself. I was so . . . alone for those two weeks." And Sam stops him to look at him properly before pulling Steve into a quick embrace. 

"I'm glad you're okay, Steve," he says seriously. "I was really worried about you. I mean . . . we all thought . . . but you're okay. And I'm glad for it." They start walking again, about a twenty yards behind everyone else. "Couldn't have my best friend dying so early in the game," he jokes, making Steve crack a smile.

"No, never," Steve teases back. 

"Something's wrong," Sam says, coming to a stop. The rest of the group is about fifteen yards ahead of them, standing completely still.

"Why did we stop?" Steve asks Clint when they catch up. Clint just shushes Steve and points at a building.

"You think I know?" Clint asks. "I'm eighty percent deaf, dude." So Steve listens, eyes flitting around their surroundings. There's a faint rustling noise, and then a bang, like something being knocked over. And then all of sudden, a wave of Infected run out of an alley straight at them. Guns go up and shots ring out almost blindly, Infected going down left and right.

Steve sinks into a defensive stance, arms slightly bent, gun held in his hands, both eyes open. The more he shoots, the more he falls back on his Marines training because every one of his instincts is telling him to run.

_Run. Don't get bitten again. Run. Watch out for Bucky. Run. Keep Sam in sight. Run. Run. Run._

But he doesn't run. He can't run. They stand their ground and within five minutes, there's a pile of Infected littering the ground around them. Clint picks through them, gathering his arrows and cleaning them off. Steve clicks the safety on his gun and puts it away in its holster before placing his hands on his knees and bending over, breathing hard.

Since his time in the military, gunshots have always made him nervous. Thing is, out here, there's no room for anxiety, no time for panic. He has to be completely focused. So he stands back upright and surveys his surroundings. Dum-Dum is talking to Falsworth and Bucky is talking with Pietro and Wanda. The brunet glances over at Steve—worried—but Steve just shakes his head.

"You okay?" Sam asks him. Sam knows. Sam was with him when it happened.

When his entire unit was slaughtered in an ambush.

When Steve got shot and Sam pulled him out.

When he and Sam had to make their way back to base fifteen miles away.

"Fine," Steve mutters through gritted teeth. 

"Not buyin' it," Sam replies, turning Steve to make him look at him. "Talk to me, man." Steve sighs.

"Of course I'm not okay, Sam. But I have to be. Or at least act like I am." And Sam just nods.

"Let me know. If you wanna talk about it." Sam looks like he wants to say more.

"What?" Steve asks. 

"Maybe you should tell Barnes," is all Sam says. And he's right. Steve should tell Bucky. But not now. Right now they have to move. That commotion is going to draw attention and they need to get to higher ground.

So Steve corrals everyone further into the city. They chose a building that looks abandoned, no noises coming from it, and go in one by one, everyone checking a floor before all settling in the middle by a window.

Bucky and his team set up their things, Bucky his sniper rifle and the rest of them . . . whatever it is they're doing. Steve sees explosives, guns, bullets . . . It's a lot. Steve doesn't know, and he doesn't ask.

They'd agreed on staying here for a night or two and Steve goes about setting up his things and radioing in to Tony. All he says is that they'd encountered a mob and taken care of it, and then he puts the contraption down. Taking a few deep breaths, he closes his eyes. He's okay. Sam's okay and Bucky's okay and everyone is okay for now.

"You okay?" Wands asks, coming to sit next to him. Steve nods and offers her a small smile.

"Just tired," he says, which is true. "We didn't sleep well last night." And Wanda smiles kindly. She's very pretty—long brown hair and big eyes and soft face. Very young. But the situation has aged all of them.

"We didn't either," she murmurs. "But we're a still here." They sit in comfortable silence before Pietro calls her over. After that, all Steve hears is a soft shot every now and then. Bucky must have a silencer, which is actually really smart of him. Steve shouldn't be surprised though; his boyfriend is brilliant. And Bucky really is. Steve doesn't tell him enough, but he should.

He should also tell him about what Steve and Sam talked about earlier. The thing Steve's never told any of his friends. The only reason Natasha knows is because, well, she's marrying Sam. Steve hadn't wanted anyone to pity him for it. It'd been on the news, two marines escape ambush, but no details had been brought to light. None of the vivid memories that Steve and Sam have had been broadcasted. No one'd asked, and they hadn't told.

But he's about to.

Because Bucky's walking over to him.

"Gabe and Dernier are taking the first watch," he says, plopping down next to Steve. "Pietro and Sam have second. Then me and you." Steve nods, biting his bottom lip. Bucky looks at him quizzically, trying to figure out what's wrong. Steve may as well tell him now. 

"I need to tell you something," he says.

"Okay," Bucky replies. "What is it?" When Steve says nothing, Bucky takes his hand and pulls him up, leading him as far away from the others as he can. "There," Bucky announces. "No one can hear us." Steve chances a glance over at Sam, who smiles at him encouragingly. So Steve takes a deep breath.

"When I was in the Marines with Sam, we had a really close team. It was about ten guys and we'd been on assignment together for years. And we . . . we were out one day, just doing routine Intel with out contacts, and we were ambushed." Steve's voice catches then, and he squeezes Bucky's hand. "My entire team was slaughtered in front of my eyes. I watched every single one of them die and I couldn't do a fucking thing about it. The only reason Sam and I got out of there was because they thought I was dead. They'd shot me. That scar on my stomach? They left me to die. And Sam was apparently convincing enough for them to leave.

We hiked fifteen miles back to base with Sam basically carrying me the whole way. It was on the news, after, or so I've heard. No details were released. Sam and I refused to say anything other than that we were attacked. But Bucky . . . I don't know. Sam said I should tell you. Why I've been acting weird coming out here. I'm just . . ." Steve looks up, at a loss for words.

"You're afraid it's going to happen again," Bucky finishes for him, blue-grey eyes soft and understanding. Steve nods. Bucky takes Steve's face in his hands—warm hands that smell of gun powder and earth and rain. "I can't begin to understand, Steve. Those guys over there . . . they're my family. But I'd to go hell and back for you. For any of them. We're not gonna lose one person on this mission if I can help it." When Steve doesn't look up, Bucky nuzzles into his neck and pushes his face up before finally making eye contact. "We're gonna be fine." And Steve nods, letting Bucky hold him close, letting Bucky hold him together.

-

They go like that for almost two weeks—traveling throughout the city killing Infected, stopping every now and then to completely clear an area. But there are so many, it feels like a losing battle. The others don't let Steve get discouraged, though. They make jokes and fool around and, crazy enough, they have fun.

And Clint and Sam are there, his old friends mixing with his new friends. Clint who's hilarious, never a dull moment. And Sam who just constantly picks on Steve. It's good. It's good to be surrounded by this group of people. Even Pietro and Wanda have found their places, making jokes along with the rest of them. Personally, Steve thinks Wanda may just have a thing for Clint, but he's not going to say anything. Yet. 

But it all just reminds Steve more of the team he'd lost. Steve and Sam had been in therapy for months over it. But this is a good kind of nostalgia. Bucky's unit is fun and easy-going, but also serious when the time comes to get things done. They're efficient. They've almost got the whole city cleared, and Tony and Bruce have been working with a government official named Nick Fury to get the city sealed off.

The government is finally doing something, and they're getting it done fast. They're finally allowing the military to help. Fifteen foot tall steel gates are going up around the city, sealing them all in. The Air Force has been lifting the masses of bodies from the streets and burning them outside of the city. New York City is becoming a safe haven along with LA, Chicago, and Huston. The military is taking care of the other cities--the ones that aren't as overrun as New York.

The only reason New York, and the States in general, had such a problem is that it all started here. There are just so many Infected. According to Tony, the rest of the world hasn't had as much of an epidemic as the States, so at least there's that. There's a chance that the population can overcome this. They may have to vacate some areas, and there will always be a problem, but they can close the borders, search everyone, have safe cities and certain places to send the Infected.

"Hey, you okay?" Bucky asks, bringing Steve back to the present. They're on the last leg of their journey, heading back toward the Stark Tower, but on the other side of the city. Currently, they're stopped for a water break.

"Yeah, fine. Just thinking." Metal fingers twine themselves between Steve's and squeeze gently.

"Whatever you say, doll," Bucky murmurs, tugging on Steve's hand so he comes closer. "Wanna talk about it?" he asks a few minutes later. Steve looks over at him and bumps their shoulders together.

"I just . . . being around people for this long . . . not being alone for any period of time is exhausting." Steve winces at how that sounds, but it's true. He doesn't want Bucky to think Steve doesn't want to be around him, but Steve is also needs space every now and then to recharge. "I love you," he tacks on, leaning over to press a kiss to Bucky's temple. 

"Nah, I get it," Bucky says. "It is kind of hard never being alone. Especially not being able to be alone with you." And Bucky smirks when Steve squeezes his hand a bit too hard.

"Yeah," he says, because Pietro and Wanda are only a few feet in front of them and he can't say anything back without them hearing.

"Guys!" Sam calls out.

Immediately, everyone stops what they're doing. Steve looks up to see about a hundred Infected standing in front of them. A hundred ragged bodies dripping blood and flesh and God knows what else onto the concrete of the street. Steve looks behind them, assessing the situation, trying to find a way out while pushing his way toward Sam, dragging Bucky behind him. But there's no time.

The Infected have caught their scent. The Infected are running, charging them.

"Run!" Steve yells, taking off right behind Sam. "Bucky, come on!" But he doesn't see Bucky. He only sees Pietro, Wanda, and Sam. The rest of the group is nowhere to be found. Bucky must've taken off with his team the other direction. They're separated.

They've split up.

The worst thing that could happen has happened and Steve can't find Bucky and he's trying to keep Wanda on her feet as they run. And run. And run.

-

Back at the tower, Natasha shifts restlessly. All week she'd been hanging on Tony's every word from his radio communication with Steve. Sam's okay for now, for all she knows, but she can't help but worry. For Sam, for Steve, for all of them.

Especially since it's been five hits and fifty-seven minutes since Steve's last check-in. Something bad has happened, Natasha can feel it. Steve usually radios in by now. So either the contraption got damaged somehow, or something's happened. And Natasha being the pessimist she is assumes the worst.

"Why hasn't he called in yet?" Natasha asks no one in particular. They're all in the lab, huddled around Tony's phone, all differing degrees of worry. Natasha is ready to go after them, pregnant and all.

"He has three minutes," Tony says, not sounding too confident in that. "Give him his three minutes and then we can freak out." That doesn't sit well with Natasha. Steve is responsible, a leader. He knows how much Natasha worries and he worries just as much. And he doesn't like to worry people. It gives him anxiety to think that people are worrying about him. This isn't like Steve. At all.

The seconds tick by and Natasha starts to pace. Her friends are out there, her husband—for all intents and purposes—is out there. Alone. No backup but the people gathered around this phone. What do they do if Steve doesn't radio in? What if someone's hurt? What if someone's dead? What if—

"Tony," a rough voice says over the radio connection. "—separated. Infected . . . chasing us." It's staticky, Steve's voice coming in shakily. "Sam and the Maximoffs . . . Bucky and the . . . separated."

"Steve!" Tony calls. "You're breaking up. Are you guys okay?" There's a moment of static.

"We're fine," Sam says, voice clear, if breathless, through the radio. Natasha's heart is pounding. "We ran almost twenty blocks, ran into a building." She wants to say something, anything, but she can't think around Sam is okay, Steve is okay, we're okay.

"And the others?" Pepper asks. Natasha looks up at her, bent over the phone.

"They ran the opposite way," Pietro says, soft accent flitting over his words. Natasha's heart drops into her stomach. Bucky. Clint. God, no. "It was as if the creatures laid in wait for us," he says.

"Seriously," Steve says. "One minute there were none of them and the next there are a hundred of them. Something's going on."

"Were they okay?" Natasha asks. "Clint and Bucky and the others?" It sickens her to even think of one of them hurt.

"They were fine when we last saw them," Steve says.

"Okay, well you were coming back anyway, right?" Bruce says. "Just come back. They probably will, too."

"I can't do that," Steve says. And Natasha sighs. Of course he can't. "I can't leave them out there not knowing what happened to them." There's a silence, and then Steve speaks again. "Everyone else will go back. It's too dangerous and we don't know how much longer my blood can keep them safe." Natasha inhales sharply.

"Steve, you can't—" she tries, but Steve cuts her off.

"I'm going after the others," Steve says.

And then the line goes dead.


	12. To Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The corpse is male, big and broad.
> 
> With blond hair.
> 
> -
> 
> They tore him apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so pretty intense chapter. Warnings for references to a past abusive relationship and panic attacks here. Next chapter will be the last real one, with fourteen being an epilogue and fifteen being the complete playlist I used for this story. Thanks for sticking with me! We're almost there.

"He's going to get himself killed," Pepper says, pacing in front of the table. They're in the main room now, everyone slightly freaking out. Natasha can barely breathe. If Steve goes out there by himself, he could die. "Can we get him back on the line?"

"It only goes one way, Pep," Tony says apologetically, fiddling with his phone. "I didn't think he'd be so stupid."

"Really?" Natasha laughs. " _Steve_? You didn't think _Steve_ would do something stupid? Are we talking about the same guy here? The guy who in fourth grade tried to fight kids twice his size for poking a frog with a stick?" She's just on this side of hysterical right now.

"Sam won't let him do anything too stupid," Bruce reasons, trying to calm everyone down.  And thank God that Steve has Sam, because if he didn't, he probably would get himself killed going on a rescue mission. "And Steve has the twins to think about. Sam will insist on going with Steve and Steve won't leave the twins to make it back to the tower alone. Therefore, they're all going after the others." Bruce smiles at her kindly and Jane sighs, flopping down on the couch.

"I hope they're okay," Thor murmurs, voicing all of their thoughts. "I hope they got away." Natasha places a hand on her enlarged stomach, trying to calm down. She knows stress isn't good for the baby, but _goddamn it, Steve._

"Let's hope so," she says, settling in for a long night of waiting.

- 

"Steve, you can't just go out there by yourself," Sam argues, broad form blocking Steve from the door. "You'll get yourself killed."

"Either we all go, or no one goes," Wanda says. Pietro nods. And Steve's outnumbered. Goddamn it. 

"Guys . . . I appreciate it, but I can't put you in danger like this." He can't. He can't ask his friends to do this. He can't ask his friends who are still possible vulnerable to this virus to go out there again. 

"They're our friends now, too," Pietro says. "I won't leave them out there." He's determined, Steve will give him that.

"Fine," Steve says, defeated. "But we left all of our bags except mine. We have to at least find water." So they all split up through the building in search of water bottles, which Wanda finds in a mini fridge in what looks like an office. 

Sam found a discarded backpack lying around on the third floor, so they pack up as much water as will fit and Sam shoulders it on. Before they leave, Steve reloads his gun and then Sam's. Sam gives him a meaningful look, a look that screams _don't do anything stupid or I will fucking kill you_. 

"Okay, okay," Steve mutters, and Sam chuckles. "Let's go."

-

When they finally stop running, when they can't run anymore, when their breathing is ragged and their lungs are on fire, the group ducks into a building and climbs three flights of stairs before finally stopping. And only then does Bucky take the time to figure out who's around him. And only then does his heart drop into his stomach.

Steve isn't here.

Steve isn't with them.

It's only his team and Clint. And hell, he's grateful that they're safe, but where is Steve? And Sam and Pietro and Wanda? Where did they go?

"Barnes," Clint says, and Bucky looks up. "We can't stay here. We have to find safer ground." The archer is fiddling with his bow, on edge. And why wouldn't he be? They'd just been chased by fucking _zombies_. The rest of the Howlies look at Bucky. 

"Up to you, Sarge," Dum-Dum says. "We follow your lead." Bucky looks over at Clint and he nods. Bucky respects Clint, so if Clint says something, Bucky listens.

"Catch your breath, see if you can find water. Meet back here in ten minutes." After he gives the order, his team splits up, but Clint drops onto the floor next to him.

"Steve'll be okay," Clint says softly. "He knows what he's doing. He's been through some really rough shit—this is nothing compared to that." Bucky looks over at him, and the archer smiles at him kindly. Bucky likes Clint. He knows the man is deaf, but he's never let that stop him. Clint is always in the background making jokes or sniggering when someone does or says something stupid. But he's always been kind to Bucky and Bucky appreciates it.

"I hope so," Bucky whispers, making sure Clint can see his face so he can read his lips.

"He's got Sam. Sam will take care of him. They've got the radio—they'll be fine. They're probably already looking for us, honestly. Knowing Steve, he won't leave us out here. Goddamn idiot. No self-preservation." Clint rambles a bit more about how stupid Steve can be, telling a few stories about Steve before Bucky met him.

"He literally tried to beat those kids up?" Bucky asks at the end, not able to contain his laughter.

"They were like fifteen and little nine-year-old Stevie Rogers was trying to fuck their shit up for picking on a fucking frog!" Clint yells, his laugher breaking up his words. "That kid, man. Guy's golden." The laughter dies off into silence, Bucky looking down at his feet. "Do you believe in soul mates?" Clint asks him, catching Bucky off guard.

"Yeah," he says, surprising himself. "I do. It's Steve. I feel like I've waited my entire life for him, and I know it sounds stupid, but he's my soul mate." It's true. Bucky loves Steve with his whole heart. And he's loved people before in previous relationships but those are nothing compared to what he feels for Steve. Steve is a whole new level for him.

"You'd know if he wasn't okay," Clint says. "Deep down, you’d be able to feel it. If he's your soul mate, which I think he is, too. Just the way you two are with each other. Steve's never trusted easily. It took me and Nat forever to get him to open up at all, much less about what happened with Rumlow, but you were different. The moment you started working at the shop, we noticed Steve was drawn to you. Took you long enough to get your shit together, though." Bucky chuckles, and Clint shoves him. 

"Who's Rumlow?" Bucky asks. Steve's mentioned him before, and how he was abusive and that they broke up, but he's never gotten the full story. 

"Oh, man," Clint laughs. "Brock was fucking terrible. And Steve is just so . . . not naïve, but . . . sensitive? Vulnerable? I don't know. Brock took advantage of that. He talked Steve into doing things Steve didn't want . . . sexually. BDSM. Like the hardcore BDSM shit. And, uh, when Steve wouldn't do it, Brock would get really mad and throw him around a bit. Always apologised the next day, always brought a gift. Classic abuser, you know the type." And yeah, Bucky does. "But yeah, man. Like me and Nat knew something was up, cause Steve kept coming home with bruises and shit. Always insisted they were from work. The guy is a klutz.

"But like fucking Brock Rumlow. He did that to Steve for two fucking years. Me and Nat finally found out about a year and a half in and Steve finally broke up with the guy, but Dick Rumlow got him to keep putting out for six more months before Steve broke it off for good. Dude was just fucking terrible. Took Steve forever to get over it. But he got stronger for it."

"God I love him," Bucky blurts, overcome with a profound need to protect Steve and beat this kid's ass for hurting him. With the metal fist.

"Soul mates," Clint sings, shifting against the wall.

"Got water, Sarge," Dum-Dum calls, coming back into the room with plastic bags full of water bottles. The rest of the team follows behind him, chattering and carrying some of their own supplies—bags, medical items, etc.

"Take twenty, boys," Bucky says. "Hydrate, take a nap, whatever." He gets a few cheers and then the rest of the unit settles down on the far side of the room, only after sending Mortia a meaningful look. 

"It's like how I know Nat is okay," Clint says after a moment. "She's my best friend, like a platonic soul mate. We've been friends forever and I'd just know if something was wrong. Steve is fine. We'd know."

"Yeah," Bucky murmurs. "I hope you're right, man." Because Bucky really does think he would know if something was wrong. After what he's gone through the first time, he thinks he'd know. The first time, when he'd thought Steve was dead . . . has been devastating. This doesn't feel like that. Bucky doesn't have the gut feeling that Steve is hurt. He's scared, but he doesn't think Steve is hurt.

So he takes his remaining ten minutes or so to close his eyes and clear his mind. He needs to have full focus right now if they're going to get home in one piece. The city has basically been cleared now, enough so that the military can take over and finish off what they started now that the government is letting them help. So Bucky decides what they're going to do.

"Okay," he says, standing up. The others look up at him. "We're going to get as close as possible to where we split up with the others and wait. Steve and Sam will be coming back, and we can regroup and then head back to the tower." The Howlies nod at him and there are a few lewd remarks about what Bucky is going to do to Steve when he sees him again, but overall, they seem to agree.

So they pack up and reload their guns and head back the way they came, sticking to the shadows in the dusk and snow. Every noise makes them jump, but they never stop. The sun is going down quickly, taking the temperature down with it, and it drops below zero quickly. There's a steady wind, too, and Bucky shivers.

Then Monty stops them.

He's at the front of the line and he's got his hand stuck out behind him, head peaked around the corner of a building. Everyone stops until finally Bucky and Clint catch up, coming to a halt behind Mortia.

"What—" Bucky begins, but gets cut off. 

"Run!" Monty yells, high-tailing it across the street.

"Go! Go!" Bucky yells at the rest of them. He doesn't know what's got Monty spooked, but they need to go. So they take off after him, sprinting across the street and oh.

There's a group of Infected, about twenty of them, are milling and fighting around looks like a corpse. Bucky stops and stares. He can't breathe, his heart is pounding. He can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

The corpse is male, big and broad.

With blond hair.

"Barnes, move it!" Clint yells, shoving Bucky along. The creatures have definitely heard them now, forgetting their meal to take chase.

"Split up around the block!" Bucky cries out. "Pick them off!" The Howlies split up into the apartment buildings that scatter the road, racing up fire escapes. Clint and Bucky do the same and Bucky grabs his gun, holding it steady on the railing.

Shots fly, reaping the squelchy sound of Infected dropping to the ground and others charging over them. Bucky finds one that's trying to climb up the fire escape Mortia is on and guns it down before pointing the rifle down and picking off a few below him. The air next to his hears ripples as Clint shoots of his arrows, hitting his mark every time.

More and more keep coming and Bucky is going to regret this decision soon if the wave doesn't stop. They're going to run out of bullets and have to reload and that will give the creatures time to get to them.

"Dernier, Jones, reload!" Bucky calls. "Everyone else keeps shooting!" He sees his team do as he says, and when they're done, he tells Dum-Dum and Mortia to reload, and so on until he gets to himself. "You good?" he calls up to Clint.

"Yeah," the archer replies, not taking his eyes off the Infected. "Reload." So Bucky does as quickly as he can, but then something grabs his foot.

And he looks down.

And bony fingers—literally finger bones—are dug into his boot. The skin of the creature's fingers had literally rubbed off, leaving pointy bone at the ends. It's piercing through the soft leather of his boots and into his foot, ripping at the skin. Bucky cries out and shoots the creature between the eyes, but when it falls, it takes Bucky with it.

He falls down two stories and lands in the middle of a battle zone. 

-

Gunshots in the distance.

There are gunshots in the distance.

Steve picks up his pace.

"Come on!" he yells to the others, full-on sprinting now. It has to be them. It has to be. No one else is in this part of the city, especially not with the kind of assault rifles Steve hears going off. No, that's definitely them. And they're in trouble. 

"There they are!" Sam calls, turning down another street and then Steve sees them. They're spread out over the apartment buildings, as high up in the fire escapes as they can get. Corpses litter the ground, other Infected using them to get higher, to reach for the men on the stairs.

There's a group of them at the bottom of the fire escape Clint is on, but they're not paying much attention to the archer. Clint is firing arrow after arrow into the mob, but more keep coming. There's something keeping them there, something . . .

A glint of metal.

 _Bucky_.

Steve rushes forward, leaving Sam and the twins behind. He doesn't think, just crashes into the mob of Infected, punching with one hand and shooting with the pistol in his other, completely ignoring any injuries, until Clint picks off the last one. 

"We gotta get out of here!" Sam yells, but Steve can't think, can't breathe. His lungs won't fill. Because Bucky is on the street in front of him, unconscious, possibly dead. He's bleeding . . . everywhere. His arms, his chest where his shirt is torn open, from a cut on his forehead.

_They tore him apart._

"What happened?" Dum-Dum asks, crowding into Steve's space. "Holy shit," he mutters, looking down at Bucky.

"Get him up," Sam says, taking over leadership. Steve picks him up as gently as he can as the rest of the Commandos make their way down from the fire escapes. Pillowing Bucky's head on his chest, he gets an arm under his knees and around his shoulders, cradling his body close. His mind is running a mile a minute over the worst case scenarios, his hands shaking. Panic is overtaking his body, but Sam has a hand on his back, propelling him forward. 

He doesn't even know where they're going. He doesn't care. He can feel Bucky's chest rise and fall weakly against his own. He's alive. For now. They have to get to shelter, to wait out the night until they can get back to the tower, but where?

"In here!" Pietro calls, gesturing to a building on the left. They all crowd in and lock the door behind them, and Steve stands frozen, just looking at his boyfriend's pale face.

Bucky's going to die if they don't get help.

He may die anyway.

"Give him to me," Sam says gently, trying to get Steve to let go, but Steve can't. If he lets Bucky go, he may never get him back. "Rogers, give him to me, _now_ ," Sam says sternly, taking Bucky from Steve's arms. Steve jerks forward, but Pietro and Wanda grab him, holding him back.

"He's going to help him, Steve," Wanda says, holding onto Steve tightly. He could break free if he wanted to, but he just slumps down onto the floor and watches as Sam sets out a blanket and gets medical supplies from Monty.

Everyone is watching as Sam takes off Bucky's jacket, and then his shirt, and Steve feels like he's going to be sick. There's blood everywhere, exposed bone on his flesh arm. Sam is working quickly, but Bucky needs a blood transfusion or he won't make it. They have to get back to the tower. 

So Steve takes out the radio Tony had given him and calls in, praying for a miracle.

-

Tony is curled up in bed, almost asleep, when his phone goes off. Groaning, he rolls over. Who the fuck thinks it's okay to call at this hour? Bruce sighs next to him and looks up, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"Are you going to get that?" he asks. Tony just looks at him. He's fucking adorable with his hair all messed up and the sheets rumpled around him. 

"Yeah," Tony murmurs, grabbing his phone. He gasps softly and answers it immediately. "It's Steve," he tells Bruce. The other man is up in an instant, throwing clothes on and tossing Tony a pair of jeans.

"Tony?" Steve asks quietly.

"Yeah, Steve. It's me. What's going on? What the fuck happened to you?" There's a silence and Tony thinks he may pull his hair out. "Speak," he says, harsher than he meant to.

"I think Bucky is dying," Steve whispers, voice cracking. Tony bolts to his feet, pulling his jeans on and buttoning them only to trip over his shirt on his way out the door. "They . . . they were attacked and Bucky . . . he fell off a fire escape and they all just . . . they tore him apart, Tony. He's dying. He's going to die and there's not a fucking thing we can do because—"

"Tony," a new voice says. Wanda. "Tony we need to get back or Bucky is going to die, but we can't move him. Not that far."

"Okay slow down," Tony says, dodging into the elevator. Bruce grabs his hand and holds it tightly. "I have a helicopter. I can come get you guys, but I need to hand the phone to Bruce so he can tell you how to help Bucky. Okay?" Tony hears a noise of affirmation from the girl and then he hands the phone to Bruce while he goes to wake Natasha and Pepper.

He wakes Pepper and tell her to go find Bruce and to get the chopper ready. She doesn't asks questions, which is a blessing to Tony right now. He's only waking up Natasha because she's find a creative way to kill him if he didn't tell her he'd heard from Steve.

"Hey," he says when he opens the door to her room, sticking his torso through the door and leaning on the frame. She's not asleep, just sitting in the middle of the bed with one of Sam's sweaters on. She doesn't look up from her hands. Her hands where she's fingering the band on her left hand, third finger. "We've heard from Steve," he continues. The redhead still won't look up. "Natasha, it's Bucky." She looks up then, tears forming in her eyes. "You can stay here or come upstairs, but I thought you'd want to know." She bites her lip and then looks straight at him, face twisting into a snarl.

"You thought I'd want to know?" she says slowly, enunciating every word. "I don't want to know, Tony. I don't want to know that my friend is in trouble. I don't want to know that my friend is hurt. I don't want to know that my husband is in a ridiculously dangerous situation." Her voice is shaking now and Tony steps through the doorway, going closer. "I don't want to know that someone is dead. Or dying. I don't want to know that my baby might grow up without his uncle Bucky. I don't want to know that this whole zombie apocalypse can't be fixed. I don't want to know that my child will grow up in a world where he can't go outside for fear of being Infected. So no, Tony, I need you to stop talking. I need you to stop talking and walk out that door right now." And for all that Tony's brain is screaming at him to leave, he can't. He can't leave her like this. She's his friend.

"I'm not gonna do that," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looks down, holding in rage, despair, Tony doesn't know. "I know . . . I know this is impossible. But Bruce and I are going to have to go with the helicopter. And you don't want to be alone and Pepper is upstairs. They're my friends, too. If Steve is hurting, so am I. Bucky is part of the family and you are part of the family and I am going to sit here until you feel okay enough to come upstairs with me. 

There's a very long silence in which Tony is very uncomfortable, but finally Natasha gets up and comes with him, allowing him to lead her upstairs and into the room where Bruce has a very concerned look on his face while he talks on the phone. Not good.

"Keep pressure on it," Bruce is telling the person on the other side. "Keep pressure on it. We're coming now. Call back if things get worse." Bruce hands the phone back to Tony and Tony slides it into his pocket.

"Helicopter is ready to go on the roof," Pepper says, eyeing Tony like she wants to say something, but Tony doesn't give her the chance.

"Pep, don't. I have to go. We can't leave them out there." She nods, tearing up a bit. And God, Tony hates it when girls cry.

"I've been in contact with Nick Fury. We'll have surgeons standing by when you get Bucky back here. Don't you dare get yourselves hurt," she tells both Bruce and Tony before letting them get on the elevator. Tony sees Pepper lead Natasha over to the couch, and then the doors close.

"You ready to do this?" Bruce asks, twining their fingers together. Tony sighs. 

"Of course not. But we can't leave them out there."

"He might not make it. From the way Sam was describing his injuries," Bruce murmurs. "They sound pretty extensive." Tony leans against him.

"Just do what you can, babe," Tony says as the doors open. It's cold and dark and they get into the chopper with Tony in the pilot's seat.

"I'm afraid he's not going to make it back to the tower," Bruce shouts over the wind as Tony takes off, angling for the coordinates Sam gave them. Tony takes that in for a moment. If Bucky doesn't make it . . .

"You can't think like that," he tells his boyfriend. "You have to have faith, okay?" And that's enough of being positive for Tony. It's so out of his comfort zone to be the positive one, and he's used up all of his cheerfulness for the year just today.

It's about a ten minute ride and then they're there, and Tony lands the chopper on the roof. Bruce goes to leave and Tony goes to follow, but the older man stops him.

"You should stay with the helicopter," he says, and Tony frowns. "Two reasons: someone needs to stay, and from what Sam says, this isn't pretty. And I really don't want you to see that. Bucky's your friend, and if you don't have to see it, you shouldn't."

"Bucky's your friend, too," Tony protests. Tony wants to be there. To help, to help Steve. 

"Yes, but I have to go." Bruce kisses him softly. "You'll be safe if you stay inside. We'll be up in ten minutes." 

"If you're not back in ten minutes, I'm coming after you!" Tony calls over the wind of the blades. 

"Wouldn't expect anything less!" Bruce calls back, blowing him a kiss.

And Tony lets him go, hoping against hope that they got to Bucky in time.


	13. To Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Okay, so only the epilogue to go. Enjoy!

Steve is waiting.

Waiting for someone to tell him how Bucky is. Waiting for news. Waiting for Bruce to come out of that room. Waiting for any sign that Bucky is still alive.

Steve hates waiting.

He's sitting outside of the operating room—and why the fuck does Tony Stark have a medical floor in his tower? No one knows—waiting very patiently for someone to come tell him if his boyfriend is alive or not. Steve thinks he's been very nice up to this point with the waiting. It's been hours upon hours and Steve feels sick. He feels like he's going to throw up or maybe pass out and he's pacing. He can't seem to stand still.

Because Bucky is in that room on a table with a team of surgeons that Pepper seemed to summon out of thin air, and Steve can't be with him. Bucky's been on that table for almost six hours and Steve can't hold his hand. Bucky is probably scared—terrified—and no one is allowed in there to be with him.

How did this happen? How did they get here? How did the world come to this? How did a little tiny virus wreak this much havoc on the world?

But now isn't the time for philosophy. Now is the time to bide his time, to sit against the wall and stare at his hands and keep his mind clear so that he doesn't have another panic attack. Now is the time to be strong. He has to be strong for Bucky. For when he wakes up.

Because he _will_ wake up. Steve has to believe that.

"I brought coffee," Pietro calls, making Steve jump. "Sorry," the blond says, sliding down the wall to sit next to Steve.

"Thanks," Steve whispers, taking the warm mug from Pietro and drinking some gratefully.

"Any news?" 

"None," Steve replies, sighing and knocking his head back against the wall. He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths, clutching the mug tightly.

"He's a fighter," Pietro says. "He'll make it." It's comforting and Steve appreciates it, but all he really wants to do is barge into that room and demand an update. So he stands up with every intention of knocking on the door, but his body has other plans. "Whoa," Pietro says as Steve falls against the wall. "Hey, sit back down." But Steve can't. He can't keep going without knowing. He just needs to know how bad it is, that's all, but his head is swimming and his vision is blurry.

"Steve!" Sam calls, jogging over to them. And it's too much. It's all too much for Steve to handle and the wall is cold against his shoulder and the floor is looking more and more inviting.

Sam getting him into a sitting position is the last thing he remembers before he passes out.

-

Steve's in a bed and it's bright and cold and he's alone. His head is pounding and there's an annoying beeping sound coming from his left, but he doesn't know where he is. Last thin he remembers, he was waiting for Bucky to get out of surgery.

 _Bucky_.

Steve opens his eyes and looks around frantically. He's hooked up to two machines and there's a blanket over his legs . . . he's in the medical suite? Why?

"Gave us a bit of a scare," Bruce says, making Steve jump. He's in the chair by the door, reading over a chart. "It's just exhaustion. You should be okay."

"Bucky?" Steve asks, staring at Bruce with what he hopes is a pleading enough look to get some information.

"He's out of the woods," Bruce says, and Steve sags into the bed, closing his eyes. "You should be able to go see him as soon as I unhook you from the IV's." The older man comes over and starts taking the needles out and Steve squeezes his eyes shut. He fucking hates needles. "It was bad, Steve," Bruce tells him. "They almost lost him twice. It's going to take a while for him to recover, but he's going to be fine." Bruce squeezes his shoulder and leaves him to go find Bucky.

And when Steve does, when he finally sees Bucky, he can't breathe. He stands stiffly in the doorway, unable to make himself move. The brunet's entire body is bandaged. His right arm, his chest, his right thigh. His metal arm is bent at an awkward angle and Steve thinks it may be broken. His face is relaxed though, and Steve focuses there until his lungs regain proper function.

Then he moves forward.

He meant to end up in the chair next to Bucky, but instead he finds himself curling up carefully on the bed beside him. Steve nuzzles his face into Bucky's hair and breathes.

 _Earth. Rain. Bucky_.

Even through all the hospital smell of antiseptic and death, Bucky still smells like himself.

Steve almost feels like crying again, but he doesn't. He just lies there and enjoys the warmth of the body next to him, so grateful that Bucky's alive. He's trembling, with cold or relief or panic he doesn't know, but he's shaking and he can't stop.

Belatedly, he realises there are words coming out of his mouth. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_. He can't stop. Can't stop shaking, can't stop apologising. There's an inevitable panic attack in the near future and Steve welcomes it, accepting punishment for doing this to Bucky. Because he did. Do this.

Not on purpose, but he let Bucky come. He let Bucky and his team come with him and he should've said no. He should've said no and then Bucky would've been safe, wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed.

"If you apologise one more time, I _will_ kill you," Bucky mutters, making Steve jump and almost fall off the bed. The brunet is looking at him, eyes pained but bright all the same. "Just shut up and hold me." And the panic is finally washing over him, a bit late, but all the same his body is still shaking and it's hard to breathe.

So he holds Bucky as gently as possible, trying to breathe. This isn't about him, this is about Bucky. Bucky's hurt, not Steve. Steve needs to be supportive.

But he can't breathe.

Bucky is here and he's alive and he's talking but Steve can't make himself calm down. _Bucky's okay, he's fine, he'll be okay_ , but panic is irrational sometimes. Sometimes . . . sometimes there's no reason. Bruce had said exhaustion, and so Steve just lets it out. He lets himself cry, hoping that will help. It's only him and Bucky anyway, no one else around to hear him fall apart.

"It's okay, Stevie," Bucky soothes, letting his head rest against Steve's shoulder. "It's okay, I'm here. You're gonna be okay." Steve's sobbing now and his stomach aches with it.

"I almost lost you," he cries, and Bucky clutches him as close as possible.

"I'm right here, baby," Bucky says. "I'm here and you're here and we're alive and we did it. We did it." And Steve lets Bucky comfort him, lets the brunet kiss his face and neck and jaw until he can breathe again, and then Steve sits up. He needs to wash his face, needs to shower, but he doesn't want to leave Bucky.

"He'll be out in a few days," Bruce says, making both Steve and Bucky jump. The brunet hisses in pain, and Steve looks over at him sharply.

"I'm fine," Bucky insists.

"Sorry," Bruce apologises. "Didn't mean to startle you. But Steve, you really shouldn't be out of bed either. I said you could come see him, not appropriate his bed. You need rest. And fluids. And probably food." And now it's Bucky's turn to glare at Steve.

"I was just tired is all," Steve says, but Bruce scoffs.

"He passed out from exhaustion," the older man says, and Steve glares at him. There's a lot of glaring in this room, Jesus fucking Christ. "He was dehydrated. He'll be okay if he rests." And Bruce looks meaningfully at Steve. "I can bring another bed in here. There's a shower through that door." He gestures to a door Steve hadn't seen, and then turns to leave. "But Steve, I will sedate you if I have to. You need to sleep and recover." Steve nods, defeated, and Bruce leaves with a small smile.

"Steve," Bucky says, and Steve looks over at his boyfriend. "Sleep." Those blue-grey eyes are piercing, and Steve automatically wants to do what he says.

"Shower first," Steve decides. "I'm gonna go get some fresh clothes from our room and I'll be right back." Bucky's eyes widen in what looks like fear, and Steve goes over to the bed, kissing the brunet softly. "Five minutes. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay," Bucky whispers, and Steve jogs to the elevator, ignoring everyone who looks at him. When he gets to his floor, he runs into the bedroom and grabs a shirt and some sleep pants, some briefs. On second thought, he gets some clothes for Bucky, too, and then goes back down to the medical suite. Bucky'd looked scared at the prospect of being alone and Steve can't blame him. They'd been separated enough already, Steve doesn't want to elongate that.

"Hey," Steve says, walking back into Bucky's room. "I brought you some clothes." Bucky makes a face.

"I don't wanna change until I can shower. There's no point, really." The brunet shifts uncomfortably and Steve comes up with a plan.

"There's a tub in there," Steve says after inspecting the bathroom. "And a chair. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." Bucky looks at him skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "At least let me wash your hair, Buck," Steve pleads, sending his boyfriend his best puppy dog eyes.

"God, I hate when you do that," Bucky laughs. Steve puts their clothes in the bathroom and then goes to pick Bucky up, but the brunet stops him. "I need you to take my arm off," he says, avoiding Steve's eyes. "I can't do it myself." And Steve doesn't know what to say. He didn't even know the arm could come off.

"How?" he asks.

"Just . . . there's a panel at the top. Open it, and there's a button. It detaches it from the nerves. Then just pull if off. Gently." Steve does as he's told, pulling the metal arm off as gently as possible. "It's broken anyway. Gonna have to get Stark to fix it." And Bucky still won't look at him, won't even look up from where he's staring off the other way. So Steve places a hand under his chin and drags Bucky's face to where Steve can see him.

"You know . . . you know this doesn't bother me," he says, gesturing to Bucky's lack of an arm. "You're still the most beautiful man I've ever seen. I still love you. You don't need two arms for me to love you." And that seems to be the right thing to say, because Bucky relaxes and allows Steve to pick him up and take him to the bathroom.

There's a little seat in the tub and that's where Steve sets Bucky down before starting the water. The tub fills up quickly and Steve rids himself of his clothes, grimacing as the cloth pulls at scabs as it comes off.

"Steve," Bucky gasps, and Steve looks down at himself. He's all bloody and grimy, pale skin almost turned brown with it. 

"I'm not hurt," Steve assures him. "A few scrapes here and there, but nothing serious." Steve goes about taking Bucky's hospital gown off, being as gentle as possible. "You got the worst of it. Of any of us." He's wetting Bucky's hair now, careful to not get his bandages wet. "I thought I'd lost you, Buck. You were just . . . on the ground. I thought you were dead." Steve's fingers massage shampoo into that long, dark hair, and it's calming for Steve to do something productive. To help. 

"I'm okay, Steve," Bucky says, craning his neck so he can look back and meet Steve's eyes. "I'm still here." And the brunet smiles softly at him.

"Yeah," Steve says, grabbing the detachable shower head to rinse Bucky's hair out. He takes a washcloth and washes the parts of Bucky that aren't bandaged, trying to keep a lid on the emotion bubbling in his chest. "You are." Steve takes a moment to rinse himself off, scrubbing away all of the dirt and caked blood and whatever else, watching the water go from clear to a reddish-brown. 

When he's finished with himself, he lets the water out and wraps a towel around his waist before helping Bucky out of the chair and drying him off. He's cautious with the bandages, continuously checking the brunet's face every now and then to make sure he's not in any pain.

And _goddamn_ , is he beautiful, just looking down at Steve with heat in his gaze. Steve is drying his legs, down on his knees, and Bucky's hand comes up to cup his jaw and Steve freezes. Bucky's already half-hard, and it's almost impossible to resist.

So he doesn't. 

And maybe giving your very injured boyfriend a blowjob against the wall in a hospital bathroom where anyone can walk in at any time isn't such a great idea, but the moan Bucky lets out at the first touch of Steve's mouth makes it worth while. So Steve sucks and licks, using one hand to pump at the base and focusing his efforts on the head and the sensitive underside where he knows Bucky likes best.

Steve pulls out all the stops—licking and sucking at the head before making his way down, taking Bucky into his throat and swallowing. Bucky moans a little too loud, and Steve looks up, a warning in his eyes. Bucky just threads his hand through Steve's hair and sighs, his head knocking back onto the wall.

Bucky goes quiet and still when he comes, just a breath of a moan coming out as Steve swallows down his climax. He looks sleepily satisfied—mission accomplished—and Steve gets them both dressed before opening the door. Bucky shoots him a look, but Steve shakes his head. He got Bucky off because he wanted to, not because he expected reciprocation. His dick is hard and aching, but it will go away eventually. This was for Bucky.

"I don't really care for being lifted, you know," Bucky says dryly as Steve picks him up.

"Get over it," Steve fires back, flashing a smile. Bucky grins, and Steve sets him down on his bed before shoving the other one as close as it can get.

"Lights?" Bucky asks, and Steve turns off the lights and shuts the door. The brunet sighs softly when Steve gets into bed and takes Bucky into his arms.

It's not the most comfortable thing, half of Steve's body on Bucky's bed and the other half on his, the crack between beds digging into his side, but it's perfect all the same.

"I'm glad you're here," Bucky says, nuzzling into Steve's neck.

"Me too." 

"I love you," Bucky whispers.

"I love you so much," Steve replies, kissing his boyfriend softly. And it's calm and peaceful and oh so easy for Steve to drift into sleep. 

- 

When Steve wakes up in the morning, his whole body hurts. He's sprawled across both beds with Bucky laying on his chest, hand twisted in the fabric of Steve's shirt. It's kind of adorable, really, but it's extremely uncomfortable. His feet are on Bucky's bed and his torso is on his own bed, his body bent at a strange angle.

He tries to stretch, but he doesn't want to wake Bucky, so he resigns himself to lying in a strange position. It's for a good cause.

It's also really easy to see Bucky's face like this, to see the lines of his body and the muscle rippling just under the surface. The points of his shoulder blades, the dip of his back, the swell of his ass. It's all very beautiful and Steve itches to draw him. He hasn't drawn in so long. His art took a back seat lately. What, with him running around the city killing zombies. 

But there's a pad of paper and a pen on the desk by the bed, and if he can just reach far enough . . .

So he draws. Gently, as to not wake Bucky up, but with reckless abandon. Pouring all of his pent-up emotion into the scratch of ink on paper, the lines of a body. It's relaxing, going to that place in his mind where nothing matters but pen and paper and precision. Where none of his worries plague him because they don't exist here.

Here, in this place where Steve can be himself with no responsibilities or cares. Here, where Steve has made his escape. Here in this quiet place where he's finally alone and at peace.

That is, until Tony walks in.

"This is cozy," he says, Bucky's metal arm in his hands. Steve looks up and grins, he just can't help it. Tony is one of his favourite people, no matter how much he gets on Steve's nerves. "I fixed it," Tony says quietly, walking into the room and setting the arm on the chair. "It was pretty fucked up, lemme tell you, but I worked all night and it's better than ever." He's quiet for a moment, and Steve wonders why Tony would take the time to fix Bucky's arm when he didn't have to. When Bucky hadn't even asked. 

Tony doesn't usually do nice things for people.

"I figured, with all that he's been through, he doesn't need to be down an arm, too," Tony murmurs, answering Steve's unspoken question.

"Thank you," Steve says, at a loss for words. 

"Yeah, well, don't say I never did anything nice for you," Tony says flippantly, trying to make a joke of it, but Steve isn't having it.

"But you didn't do it for me. You did it for him. And thank you for that."

"You're welcome, Steve," the brunet says. "I hope you guys get your happy ending." And then he leaves, leaving Steve confused as to what he meant, but happy all the same. Tony fixed Bucky's arm, and while Steve doesn't care if Bucky's down an arm or not, Bucky does. Bucky cares, and the arm is fixed now, and Steve is grateful. 

Because while, to Steve, Bucky is beautiful without it, Steve's number one concern is Bucky feeling good. And if Bucky feels better with the arm, than Steve will acquiesce to that. Because if Bucky's happy, Steve's happy.

Bucky shifts and groans, hiding his face in Steve's neck.

"Look who's finally awake," Steve whispers, dropping a kiss on Bucky's head. The brunet just groans again and rolls over, eyes squinting up as his eyes adjust to the light.

"W'time is it?" Bucky asks, and Steve looks over at the clock.

"Almost ten," he says, and Bucky groans loudly. It pulls a laugh from Steve. Bucky's never been a morning person, that was always Steve. 

"Too early," Bucky mutters, stretching as much as his injuries will allow. "When can I get out of here?" he asks, looking over at Steve.

"Bruce said a few days," Steve replies, moving the pad of paper over so he can get into a more comfortable position. "But at least you don't really have to worry about anything. We can watch movies and relax for a few days." Bucky doesn't look happy about that, but he relents anyway. 

"Is that my arm?" Bucky asks, surprise colouring his words. Steve glances over at it and then back to Bucky, who's struggling to get up.

"Yeah," Steve says as he helps Bucky into a sitting position. "Tony fixed it last night. Said it was pretty messed up." And Bucky's eyes are watering, gratitude written all over his face.

"Could you . . .?" 

"Of course, Buck," Steve replies, getting out of bed to fetch the arm. He places it against the socket, and looks up at Bucky.

"You kind of have to like, shove it on there and then press that button again," the brunet explains. "It'll reattach itself." And Steve does, and he's awed by how the technology works. It makes a little whirring noise when it attaches, and then Bucky rolls it, opening and closing his fist.

"What?" Steve asks, studying the confused look on his boyfriend's face.

"It's . . . lighter. It moves better. It's not the same." The brunet doesn't look unhappy about it, and Steve is about to reply when Tony walks in.

"That's because it's new," he says, leaning against the doorframe. Steve jumps and Bucky looks up, still confused. "I added more grip strength and better movement. Made it out of a different material, and added more sensors. You should be able to feel more now. It'll act like a real arm." Tony walks over and studies it, placing his hand at the socket, and Bucky gasps. "Pretty cool, right?" Tony asks, pleased with himself.

"I haven't been able to feel this much since it was real," Bucky whispers.

"And it looks cooler, so there's that." Tony is beaming at Bucky and Bucky grins right back. Steve is content to just watch Bucky being happy. 

"Thank you, Tony," Bucky murmurs. "And thank you for . . . you know." Tony just nods, pats Bucky's left arm one more time, and leaves. Steve climbs back in bed with Bucky, wrapping the brunet in his arms. 

"I love you," Steve murmurs. "So much."

"I love you, too," Bucky says, turning to kiss him. 

"Steve," Sam says, jogging into the room. Steve and Bucky look up, and Sam nods at Bucky. "We need you upstairs, man." And Bucky looks at him sharply, and Steve holds him closer. Recognising the anxiety in the room, am quickly continues, "Nothing bad, just debrief." And Steve lets out a sigh of relief. 

"Okay," he says, untangling himself from Bucky. "I'll be back later," he tells the brunet, placing a kiss on his forehead. Sam leads Steve out, and all Steve can think is that it's going to be a long day.

-

Bucky isn't alone for long, and that's good because every time he closes his eyes all he can see are the decaying faces of Infected and the bony hands ripping at his skin. It makes him cold all over even though the room is warm. He didn't tell Steve, but he knows the blond knows. He can read Bucky like a book. Bucky should still tell him. It's about trust—not if Steve can tell something's wrong, but if Bucky will confide in him.

It kind of makes Bucky feel bad, honestly, that Steve's told him so much and Bucky's told him so little. Bucky is just naturally a private person. It's hard for him to open up to people.

But then Natasha waltzes in, and Bucky knows he's done for. Wordlessly, she climbs into the bed and throws her arm around him, her other hand resting on her enlarged stomach, and they lay in silence. Eventually, the redhead replaces her hand with Bucky's, allowing him to feel the little nudges from the little human inside of her.

"I'm thinking about naming her Sarah," she says. "After Steve's mom. Or if it's a boy, maybe Grant or James." And Bucky looks up at her, eyes filling with tears. She would name her child after him? After all he's done? "Because you and Steve . . . are my best friends. And Sarah Rogers was . . . everything. The mother I never had." Natasha pauses, as if gauging how much to tell him, but he gets there first.

"Tell me about her?" he asks. He never got to meet Steve's mom, and he doesn't talk about her much—it's too hard.

"Sarah Rogers was the best person I've ever known, save maybe Steve. Because he's a lot like her. She took me in when I was young. I had just moved here from Russia and I kind of made Steve my first friend. Little Stevie Rogers. I punched a kid in the face for him and we were automatic friends.

 Sarah had me over for dinner that night, and I was grateful because my Mama couldn't cook for shit. They had a nice home, two bedrooms and a bath—enough room for the three of us. She had pictures in frames everywhere, documenting everything. I still have the first picture she took of me and Steve in second grade. 

She was funny and kind and she was my best friend. She was beautiful. She would make us cookies when we came home and let us stay up as long as we wanted. When my Mama died, she unofficially adopted me. I don't know what she said to the group home, but I always stayed at Steve's house unless the social workers were coming and then I had to stay at the group home for the night. She didn't have the money to adopt me, or I think she would've.

When she died . . . Steve was a mess. I mean, I was too, but Steve . . . Me and Sarah were all the family Steve had. But he had Sam and Clint and when we went to college we met Tony and Bruce and Pepper and Sharon. We met Peggy sophomore year . . . but _God_ , I miss Sarah.

Sam was making cookies one night when Steve was over and he cried for an hour because the smell reminded him of her. It's just . . . it doesn't get easier, you just get better at handling it." There's pain written on her face, has been since she started talking, but Bucky doesn't regret asking.

"I wish I could've met her," he whispers. Natasha squeezes his shoulders.

"She would've liked you," the redhead promises.

"Yeah?" That makes Bucky feel warm inside--hearing from Natasha that Steve's mom would've liked him. He still would've liked to meet her.

"Yeah. Probably would've slapped you for the stupid shit you pull, though," Natasha says with a smile, nudging him softly. 

"I'm surprised you haven't," Bucky fires back.

"I'm just glad you're alive," the redhead says honestly. "You and the rest of them. That was a dangerous mission and you guys did it. I'm proud of you." And Bucky smiles, suddenly feeling very tired. "You should get some sleep. Steve will be back later today. Just rest and heal, okay?" And Bucky nods, eyes closed, already half asleep. 

There's nothing for him to worry about now. His team is safe, his friends are safe. Steve's safe. So he sleeps, knowing that things will be okay.

The world will recover.


	14. Epilogue: To Begin Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A teeny bit more angst, proposals, and a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! It's done. The playlist will be up soon, and then I am officially done with this story. I may start taking requests for little outtakes--things you guys want to know about that I never specified, but that's only if I get asked for it. Enjoy the last chapter!

_Ten Months Later_

"C'mon, Buck, we're gonna be late," Steve calls from the living room. He's been waiting on Bucky to finish getting ready for over an hour now. He hadn't even been allowed in the shower with his boyfriend—which should be a crime.

"Five minutes!" Bucky calls back, and Steve rolls his eyes. It's the third time he's said that.

"I'm coming in there in two," Steve yells, plopping down on the couch. They'd moved into Tony's tower after the reconstruction. Both of their apartments and all of their belongings had been ransacked and destroyed. So they started over. It's kind of like college all over again because all of their friends are here, too.

New York City is the biggest safe haven in the States followed by LA on the West Coast and Denver in the Midwest. Everything south of Virginia and east of the Mississippi has been abandoned—good riddance; who likes the southern U.S. anyway?—with huge walls and fences blocking the remaining Infected in. The government hopes to eventually pick all of them off, but with the state their economy is in, it's just not realistic right now.

New York, though, is considered the safest place to live in the States. Most other countries have completely rid themselves of Infected and the United Nations is holding a gala in honour of the people who " _heroically risked their lives clearing New York City_ " and " _started the United States on the path to recovery_." Or whatever.

Only problem is, Alexander Pierce is going to be there.

How he isn't in jail, Steve doesn't know. But he's a politician, and it seems like they always get out of the holes they dig themselves. But he's got to be one manipulative son of a bitch to have gotten out of this one. Infecting the human race with a zombie virus?

Steve just really hopes the man doesn't know that they're related. Steve doesn't want Pierce to know anything about him. Nothing. He's not his father. He's not someone Steve ever wants to know. Steve wants nothing to do with him. Ever. At all. 

"Okay, I'm done," Bucky says, emerging from their room.

And Steve is breathless.

He's in a form-fitting black suit, tailored perfectly for him. Under it is a deep red shirt and a black bow tie. His pants cling to his thighs and ass and as good as he looks right now, Steve can't wait to get him out of his clothes later tonight. And holy shit . . . 

He cut his hair.

It's not short, exactly, but it can't be pulled back anymore. It's styled to perfection—messy, with the perfect I-just-rolled-out-of-bed look.

"So?" Bucky asks, fidgeting nervously. He's shy. How cute. Steve pushes himself off the couch and walks over to his boyfriend slowly before cupping his jaw and reeling him into a scorching kiss.

"It should be illegal for you to look this good," Steve whispers, stealing another kiss. Bucky smiles against Steve's lips and pulls away.

"Nat is going to kill us for being late," Bucky mutters, grabbing his phone and his wallet before taking Steve's hand and leading him into the elevator. 

"At least we only have to go down a few floors to get there," Steve muses. Bucky chuckles and kisses Steve's fingers.

"All the more reason we should've been on time."

"I blame you," Steve teases. "And I take no responsibility." Bucky just nudges him playfully.

"You look really good, too, you know," Bucky says, and Steve blushes deep red.

"Thanks," he mutters, leading the way out of the elevator. It's already packed--politicians, government officials, other important people Steve doesn't know. It gives him anxiety to be around this many people, and honestly, he's hoping he can get out of it. 

"We'll leave as soon as we can," Bucky murmurs, leading the way through the crowd of people, metal arm around Steve's waist. Steve sighs in relief and relaxes a bit against Bucky's sturdy frame. Bucky understands. Bucky's here.

"Steve!" Sam calls, waving them over. He's got a drink in his hand, but it won't be full for long with the way his waving his arms around. He's telling Pietro and Wanda a story, probably something from his time in the military, and Steve is almost positive it's something about him. Something embarrassing from the way the twins are glancing at him and trying to hide their smiles.

"Rogers!" Natasha yells, coming over to them. Her mouth is twisted in an unhappy line. "You're late," she says, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

"Bucky took two hours in the bathroom," Steve says automatically and Bucky whines in protest. "It's true, and you know it," Steve tells Bucky before looking back at Natasha. "I think he did his hair like ten different times."

"But it looks good," the brunet defends himself. "And that's all that matters." Natasha looks at them both, and then huffs a sigh and hooks one arm around Steve's neck and one arm around Bucky's, pulling them into a hug. She lets go just as quickly, and then she's gone into the crowd. So Bucky pulls Steve over to where Pietro and Wanda are standing and grabs two flutes of champagne off of a server's tray as she walks past.

"Hey guys," Steve says, smiling at the twins. "It's a lot, huh?"

"A bit much," Pietro says dryly, taking a sip of his drink. Wanda nods in agreement and Steve grins.

"Tony's parties were like this even before, so I kind of expected it." Steve turns to look behind him when someone bumps into him, only catching a glimpse of dark blond hair and the scent of strong cologne, and when he looks back, Bucky's told the twins a joke that has them all laughing. But Steve is starting to feel uncomfortable and a bit more anxious then he was.

Natasha catches his eyes from the other side of the room and mimes a deep breath—holding it and then releasing. She cocks her head to the side, asking, but he just shakes his head and her and looks down, trying to do what she says and breathe. The metal arm around his waist constricts just a tiny bit and Steve knows Bucky knows. 

He just feels uneasy. There's something in the air, something telling him to get out while he can. And maybe it's just his anxiety, maybe it's nothing, but if there's anything Steve's learned from his twenty-six years of life, it's to trust his instincts.

And his instincts are telling him to run.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," a woman is saying on the stage, trying to get everyone's attention. The whole place quiets down and Bucky turns them to face the front of the room. "We're here to honour a group of extraordinary people." She's tall and brunette—pretty. There's an air of command about her. "The group of men and women who started us on the path to recovery. They put their lives on the line for this country time and time again." And Steve can't listen anymore. He needs to leave. His heart is pounding and he can feel himself tensing up.

"I have to go," he tells Bucky. "We have to get out of here. We have to go." Bucky looks over at him, worry and a bit of fear in his eyes. But Steve can't stand still, so he pulls away from his boyfriend and heads for the exit.

"Steve!" Bucky calls, coming after him. He catches Steve halfway to the door and pulls him aside, against a wall. "What's going on?" he asks, searching Steve's face. His metal fingers are wrapped around Steve's wrist loosely. Steve could get away if he wanted to, but he's not sure he does. He's not sure of anything. 

"I just . . . I have a bad feeling about this," Steve tries to explain. "About all of this." Before he continues, he works on getting his breathing under control. 

"What? What is it?" Bucky pushed gently, flesh hand coming up to cup Steve's face.

"I saw Pierce earlier," Steve whispers, and Bucky's eyes widen. "I don't know how I know it was him; I didn't see his face. But Bucky, I just know. I know, and he's up to something. Something bad is going to happen and we need to get everyone out of here."

"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, glancing around.

"Yes," Steve says. "No. I don't know." Bucky looks back at him and sighs. 

"We need to sweep the room, then," he says, and Steve is grateful.

"I'm not crazy," Steve says. "And I may be wrong, but . . ."

"Hey," Bucky says, shushing Steve. "You're not crazy. If your gut is telling you something's up, then something's up. We'll check it out. Go find Tony, I'll get Natasha." Steve nods and Bucky kisses him softly before heading to find Natasha. Taking one last deep breath, Steve pushes off the wall to go find Tony.

And he hopes to God nothing happens before he finds him.

-

Steve is trying to find Bucky. He's already talked to Tony and the brunet had left the party to go check his security systems, and now Steve is trying to find Bucky and he can't. He's looked everywhere and he has such a bad feeling. He's been reduced to checking closets when the door shuts behind him.

"So you figured it out," a voice says behind him. Steve whips around to see a man with dark blond hair and blue eyes staring at him. The scent of cologne is almost choking him, that same cologne he'd smelled earlier.

Steve knows without a doubt that this is Alexander Pierce.

"I wasn't sure you would," he continues. "Figure it out, I mean. Your blood. That you're immune. I was hoping you wouldn't. This would've been so much easier if you hadn't." Steve's never been one for playing games, but he figures the longer he keeps Pierce in here, the more time his friends have to realise he's missing.

"What would've been easier?" Steve asks flatly, and Pierce scoffs.

"The virus. Killing off half of the population." He says it so flippantly that Steve almost doesn't catch the weight behind the words. Steve was right. Pierce had done this on purpose. "America was getting too big. There were too many people. Too many homeless, too many elderly. We needed a fresh start. Needed something to unite us. Something to fight against. And then my _son_ —"

"You lost the right to call me that the moment you gave me up for adoption," Steve says, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. "And again when you became a murderer." He doesn't want Pierce to know he's getting to him. But Pierce steps into Steve's space, causing Steve to back up against the wall. And for the first time, Steve notices the gun in his hand, the trigger remote in the other.

There's a bomb in the building.

This was his plan. Let everyone important gather together in one place. Everyone that had worked to stop this, to stop the Infected. Get them all in one place and then kill them all.

"It's not gonna work," Steve says quietly. 

"Excuse me?"

"It's not gonna work. The bomb. Your plan." As long as Steve keeps talking, Pierce won't detonate the bomb. As long as he keeps talking, the others have time to stop this. Or at least evacuate the building. "There will always be people trying to stop you. It doesn't matter if I'm here or not. There will always be people trying to stop you."

"I have been planning this for decades," Pierce says, standing up straight and smoothing out his suit. "You think a bunch of rebels, a bunch of kids, can stop me?" Steve needs to act now. The safety is off on the gun, the detonator held loosely in Pierce's hand. If he can just get the detonator . . . well, he's been shot before.

"I think you didn't account for one thing," Steve says, before exploding into action. He kicks the detonator out of Pierce's hand. The gun goes off, ringing in Steve's ears, and he feels the bullet land in his arm, through and through. 

Pain radiates, threatens to suffocate him, but he ignores it and punches Pierce right in the face, knocking him to the ground. 

"You didn't account for humanity's will to survive," Steve spits, picking up the gun and flicking the safety on. "Dick," he adds for good measure, before grabbing the detonator and exiting the closet.

-

Turns out Bucky was busy deactivating the bomb with Tony. They'd found it stashed under a table in the middle of the room--not a very good place to hide a bomb, if you ask Steve. But the only things people are asking him is if he's okay and what the fuck happened. Bucky'd been torn away from him by FBI officers and Steve is currently having his arm stitched by Bruce. It's not painful, but Steve really hates needles.

"Crazy really loves you, doesn't it?" Bruce asks, a smile on his face. And Steve laughs.

"Apparently," he replies, looking up at the older man.

"Crazy happens," Bruce says. "And you have to go with it sometimes. But crazy doesn't have to define who you are or how you live your life. Remember that." He pats Steve on the shoulder and exits, leaving Steve alone. 

"Hey," Sam says from the doorway, making Steve looks up. There's a little bundle in his arms, and Steve smiles. "Sarah will not stop asking for you. I swear, it's like your her dad and not me. She hasn't even said daddy yet, but of course she knows your name." And Steve waves him in, taking the baby from Sam's arms to cradle her in his. 

"Hey there," Steve croons. Big brown eyes look back at him and Sarah giggles, reaching out to touch Steve's face. He gives her one of his fingers to hold on to instead. "We all know you like me better than your dad anyway, yeah?" And Sam scoffs, making Steve smile. Which makes Sarah smile, of course.

"Uncle Steve is imagining things," Sam says, coming to stand next to Steve. "Right, Sarah?" But the baby isn't even looking at Sam. She's got Steve's finger in her mouth, sucking on it gently and smiling happily about it. "Of course," Sam groans. "My own kid likes you better."

"Of course you like me better, don't you?" Steve asks Sarah, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I never put you down."

"That's why," Sam teases. "You and Bucky spoil her." And Steve could hold her forever, but his arm aches, so he hands her back to Sam. "You doin' okay?" Sam asks, rocking Sarah gently.

"I guess. As long as Pierce is going away for life, I'll be fine." And Sam is wise enough not to comment on that, but instead to lead him out to where Bucky is still talking to the FBI. As soon as the brunet sees him, he ends his conversation with the agents and practically runs to Steve, grabbing him up in a hug.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asks, patting Steve down. "Are you hurt anywhere else? I'll fuckin' kill him for hurting you I swear to god I'll—"

"I'm _fine_ ," Steve interrupts, kissing him softly. "I'm okay, Buck. Just a few stitches. The bullet went straight through, didn't hit anything vital." There's fire in Bucky's eyes, but he'll calm down soon. "I just want to sleep." His boyfriend's eyes soften at that, and he nods.

"The police needs your statement, but we can do that tomorrow." Bucky wraps an arm around Steve's waist and Steve leans into it. "Let's go upstairs, yeah?" Steve nods, and Bucky leads him to the elevator.

As soon as the doors close, Steve is clinging to Bucky—arms around his waist, face buried in his neck. There are tears behind his eyes, threatening to overflow, but he doesn't let them, not yet. He has one more thing to do tonight before he lets himself crumble. One more very important thing. Something he's wanted to do for months. 

He does, however, let Bucky hold him. In the elevator and then on their couch. For so long that Steve no longer knows or cares what time it is. All he cares about is Bucky. That's he's alive, that's he's safe. Steve never would've forgiven himself if Pierce had hurt him. Never. 

He has to do this now.

"Buck?" he asks, tilting his face up so he can kind of see Bucky.

"Yeah, baby?" 

"Marry me," Steve says quietly. He never wanted to make a big deal about this. Never wanted a big proposal. Just him and Bucky doing life together for, well, the rest of their lives.

"What?" Bucky asks, moving so that he can fully see Steve's face. And Steve grins, digging in his pocket for the ring.

"Marry me," Steve says again, sitting up and presenting the gold band to his boyfriend. "I love you. And life is too short to wait. I love you so fucking much, James Buchanan Barnes. And I know you love me. So please do me the honour of marrying me." And Bucky looks at him, really looks at him, and nods.

"Yes," he whispers. "Yes. Fucking _yes_ , Stevie." And Steve slips the ring onto Bucky's metal hand, left finger.

"Tony had it fitted," Steve says. "And it's magnetic, so it won't fall off." When Steve looks back up at Bucky's face, the brunet is beaming. 

"I love you so much," Bucky murmurs, bringing their mouths together in a kiss. "You sneaky little shit," Bucky mutters. "How long have you had this?"

"Since you got hurt," Steve says, stealing another kiss. "Was just waiting for the right time."

"And now seemed apt?" Bucky teases.

"Basically." And Bucky laughs, making Steve laugh, and they stumble into the bedroom. "I've been wanting to get you outta this suit for hours," Steve murmurs, shoving Bucky's jacket off his shoulders.

"But I looked so nice," Bucky whines, pouting at Steve.

"Yeah, well, I look nice with your dick in my mouth so shut up and take your clothes off," Steve deadpans, working Bucky's button open.

"Well when you put it like that," Bucky mutters, scrambling to help Steve get the rest of his clothes off. Dropping to his knees, Steve kisses any bare skin he can reach. He kisses over scars and burns and healed wounds and little freckles and he can hear Bucky sigh contentedly, the brunet's head knocking back against the wall. 

When Steve finally takes Bucky's cock into his mouth, he hums happily. Bucky is hot and heavy on his tongue, leaking salty precome into Steve's mouth. Hollowing his cheeks, Steve sucks down to the base and then back up, swirling his tongue around the head and then sucking back down. When he tongues at the slit, Bucky's hand twines into Steve's hair and his hips jerk.

"God, baby," the brunet breathes. "C'mere, Stevie. C'mere." And Steve grins, pulling off with an obscene pop and standing back up to kiss his fiancé. "Gonna be the death of me, that mouth," Bucky mutters, using his grip on Steve's hair to yank his head back and ravage his mouth with teeth and tongue. "Get your fucking clothes off."

"Well when you put it like that," Steve teases, pulling his jacket off and unbuttoning his shirt. Bucky works on getting his tie undone and then moves to Steve's pants with shaking hands. "Here," Steve says after Bucky's third attempt at the button, moving Bucky's hands away and doing it himself. He lets the pants drop to the floor and steps out of them, toeing off his shoes and socks as well.

Steve is in the process of taking his briefs off when Bucky kisses him hard, arms wrapped around his waist. His hands go instead of Bucky's face, cupping either side and deepening the kiss. They walk back to the bed together, tumbling onto it and letting out breathless giggles. Steve grabs the lube and takes his briefs off and then Bucky settles between his legs.

"Wanna get my mouth all over you, babydoll," Bucky mutters, sucking a mark into the skin at Steve's neck. Steve just moans and let's it happen. He's so turned on that it feels like he's floating—to the point where he's content to let Bucky do whatever he wants. 

And what Bucky wants leaves Steve wrecked. 

He's opening Steve up with his tongue and three fingers—slowly, deliberately. His metal hand is slowly pumping over Steve's dick—not enough to get him off, but just enough to torture him. Steve is ready to call uncle when Bucky finally relents and slicks his cock, positions himself, and slides in slowly.

"Buck," Steve whispers, reaching out. He needs something to hold on to. He needs . . . 

"Right here, Stevie," Bucky soothes, putting his flesh hand in Steve's. "I'm right here. Do you need to stop?"

"No," Steve says immediately, legs wrapping around Bucky's hips and holding him in place. "I just . . . need a minute." Because he and Bucky are getting married and he just got shot by his father and everything fell apart and now it's being put back together and it hurts. But it's good. 

Bucky senses the change in his emotions because he leans down and kisses Steve softly.

"Okay?" he asks softly. Steve nods.

"Okay. Yes." And Bucky moves.

It's slow and beautiful and torturous and perfect. Bucky is careful with him, but not so much that Steve feels babied—Bucky would never baby him. But it's gentle and loving and Steve can feel the emotion and arousal tangibly in the room.

After, they cuddle up under the covers with Steve's head pillowed on Bucky's chest. The brunet is peppering small kisses on Steve's forehead and neck, just soaking in the moment. Steve's always had so much love to give. That's what his mom used to say. You've got so much love to give and you just need to find the right partner. And now Steve's finally found the right partner. It's everything Steve needs right now. Or ever.

Steve has Bucky and Bucky has Steve.

For the rest of their lives.


	15. Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an actual playlist on Spotify called "Stucky Jams" if you guys wanna check it out. There are a lot more songs on it than here, but these were most influential to my writing.

Safe Here – Anberlin

Take Me (As You Found Me) – Anberlin

Kill Your Heroes – AWOLNATION

Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf) – AWOLNATION

Wings – Birdy

Jesus Christ – Brand New

Come A Little Closer – Cage the Elephant

The War Was In Color – Carbon Leaf

Barton Hollow – The Civil Wars

Devil’s Backbone – The Civil Wars

First – Cold War Kids

2 Heads – Coleman Hell

Jet Pack Blues – Fall Out Boy

Twin Skeletons (Hotel In NYC) – Fall Out Boy

Ship To Wreck – Florence + The Machine

Hold Me Down – Halsey

Gasoline - Halsey

Battle Born – The Killers

All I Want – Kodaline

Love Like This – Kodaline

High Hopes – Kodaline

The Wolf – Mumford & Sons

Dead Inside – Muse

Mercy – Muse

Madness – Muse

Losing Teeth – Neck Deep

Brother – Needtobreathe, Gavin DeGraw

Oh Death – Noah Gunderson

Sunrise – Our Last Night

Could Have Been Me – The Struts

Stressed Out – Twenty One Pilots

Migraine – Twenty One Pilots

Car Radio – Twenty One Pilots

Fire and the Flood – Vance Joy


End file.
